alifor 
jional 
ility 


(Collector  of  Whiskers) 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


J.  ARCHIBALD  McKACKNEY 

(Collector  of  Whiskers) 


A  beard  of  rare  dimensions  that  would  create  the  bass 
of  a  whole  symphony  orchestra. 


J.  ARCHIBALD 
McKACKNEY 

(Collector     of    Whiskers) 

Being  certain  episodes  taken  from  the  diary 
and  notes  of  that  estimable  gentleman- 
student  and  now  for  the  first  time  set  forth. 

EDITED  BY 

RALPH    D.    PAINE 

Author  of  "  The  Story  of  Martin   CM" 
"  The  Greater  America"  etc. 

WITH   ILLUSTRATIONS   BY  WALLACE    MORGAN 


NEW  YORK 

THE  OUTING  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 
MCMVII 


Copyrighted,  1907,  by 
THE  OUTING  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

A II  rights  reserved 


IPs 


PUBLISHER'S    PREFACE 

THE  remarkable  researches  and  discov 
eries  of  Mr.  J.  Archibald  McKackney 
have  hitherto  been  buried  in  the  monographs 
of  the  American  Society  for  the  Promotion 
of  Curious  Science.  Mr.  McKackney,  it  may 
be  remarked,  is  an  elderly  gentleman  of  great 
wealth  and  an  eager  mental  activity  whose 
estate  is  one  of  the  show-places  of  the  New 
England  coast.  For  several  years  he  had  been 
engaged  in  assembling  his  unique  collection 
of  Human  Whiskers  before  his  discovery  and 
employment  of  their  musical  vibrations  made 
a  world-wide  stir  among  the  students  of 
Acoustics  and  Harmony.1 

1  For  technical  references  see  Annual  Reports  Am.  Soc.  P. 
C.  S.,  Vol.  XII.,  pp.  287-324  (1901)  ;  Vol.  XIV.,  pp.  103- 
149  (1903).  Also  Appendix  B.  Revised  Edition  —  Der  Mecha- 
nismus  der  Menschlichen  Sprache  nebst  Beschreibnng  einer 
Sprechenden  Maschine  -von  Wolfgang  von  Kempelen  (Vienna). 
Also  latest  Edition,  Theory  of  Harmony,  Weitzman. 

Also  A  Critical  Analysis  of  the  McKackney  Theory  of  the 
Analogy  between  the  ^Eolian  Harp  and  the  Human  Beard  or 
Whisker,  (Pamphlet  by  Dr.  Bruno  Heilig,  published  by 
Leighton  &  Leighton,  London,  1904. 

[vii 


770726 


Publisher  s  Preface 


For  the  information  of  the  layman  it  is 
perhaps  well  to  refer  to  the  circumstances 
which  preceded  the  organization  of  the  now 
famous  Hirsute  Orchestra,  as  described  in 
the  following  pages.  Having  wearied  of 
the  more  commonplace  objects  of  the  col 
lector's  ardor,  including  Japanese  pottery,  un 
set  gems  and  Roman  coins,  Mr.  McKackney 
turned  with  the  utmost  enthusiasm  to  the  task 
of  obtaining  the  photographs,  paintings  and 
drawings  of  all  the  styles,  patterns,  designs 
and  front  elevations  of  the  beards,  whiskers 
and  mustachios  that  have  ornamented  the 
human  face  from  the  days  of  the  ancient 
Egyptians.1 

He  has  visited  almost  all  the  inhabited  cor- 

1  "My  first  impulse  to  ward  this  field  of  investigation  was  in 
spired  as  the  result  of  an  idle  hour  in  a  crowded  railway  sta 
tion.  I  began  to  note  the  whiskers  of  the  hurrying  pedestri 
ans  and  was  surprised  to  discover  that  their  patterns  were  as 
severally  distinct  and  individual  as  the  faces  of  their  wearers. 
I  counted  no  less  than  seventeen  successive  types,  no  two  of 
which  were  identical  in  any  respect.  It  occurred  to  me  at 
that  time  that  if  such  a  wide  variety  could  be  found  in  this 
casual  observation,  there  must  be  an  opportunity  for  a  scien 
tific  study  of  these  highly  entertaining  and  important  human 
phenomena."  (Extract  from  the  owner's  Introduction  to  the 
Illustrated  Catalogue  of  the  McKackney  Collection.) 

viii] 


Publisher  s  Preface 


ners  of  the  globe  in  the  hope  of  adding  new 
trophies  to  his  classified  list  of  one  hundred 
and  eighty-seven  distinct  or  catalogued  varie 
ties  of  whiskers,  and  the  walls  of  his  immense 
library  are  covered  with  bewildering  sequences 
of  facial  landscapes. 

In  selecting  the  following  incidents  from 
among  his  manifold  experiences  Mr.  McKack- 
ney  has  attempted  to  present  only  the  more 
popular  and  entertaining  features  of  his  avo 
cation.  He  does  not  introduce,  for  example, 
that  important  phase  of  his  activity  which 
deals  with  the  whisker  as  a  new  field  for 
nature  study.1  His  more  serious  and  wholly 
scientific  work,  "  The  Whisker  Book,"  will 
not  be  ready  for  publication  (in  three  quarto 
volumes)  before  1909.  Its  scope  and  the 
enthusiasm  with  which  Mr.  McKackney  has 
devoted  himself  to  the  immense  task  of  writing 
the  final  word  on  the  whisker  in  Art,  History 
and  Music,  may  be  glimpsed  in  these  lines  of 

1  This  topic  was  ably  presented  in  a  paper  read  before  the 
faculty  and  students  of  the  University  of  Zweitzig  on  the 
occasion  of  the  bestowal  of  an  honorary  degree  upon  Dr.  J. 
Archibald  McKackney. 

Fix 


Publisher  s  Preface 


an  address  delivered  before  the  American  So 
ciety  for  the  Promotion  of  Curious  Research : 
"  I  am  proud,  gentlemen,  to  have  had  the 
honor  of  adding,  within  the  last  year,  no  fewer 
than  fourteen  new  species  to  the  catalogue  of 
my  collections.  I  would  rather  make  two 
whiskers  grow  where  one  grew  before  than  to 
gain  fame  in  any  other  way  under  Heaven. 
From  the  steppes  of  Siberia  to  the  steaming 
jungles  of  Madagascar  I  have  hunted  whisk 
ers  at  peril  of  life  and  limb.  Among  civilized 
races  it  is  possible  that  the  whisker  may  be 
doomed  to  extinction,  since  custom  ordains 
that  the  devastating  razor  should  more  and 
more  wreak  its  handiwork.  I  hope,  however, 
before  it  shall  be  too  late,  to  complete  the 
monumental  work  which  has  absorbed  my 
energies  for  eight  long  years." 


x] 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I      THE   EPISODE  OF  THE  TITIAN  BEARD          .  3 

II     THE  PURSUIT  OF  THE  HIRSUTE  ORCHESTRA  27 

III  THE  TRAGEDY  OF  THE   PEASANT'S  REVENGE  59 

IV  THE    EPISODE     OF     THE     SENTIMENTAL 

ANARCHIST        .          .          .          .          *  83 

V     THE  TALE  OF  THE  WANDERING  BOOK-CASE  113 

VI     THE  TALE  OF  THE    SHIPWRECKED    PARENT  139 

VII     THE  ABDICATION  OF  KING  WILKINS  I  161 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

A  beard  of  rare  dimensions  that  would  create  the 

bass  of"  a  whole  symphony  orchestra     .    Frontispiece 

PAGE 

"I'm    looking  for  a  game  where  they  give  away 

ham-and-eggs  for  first  prizes"     ...          6 

"The  magnificent  torrent  of  his  beard"       .          .        1 1 

' '  I  was  plucked  from  my  chair,  and  borne  toward 

the  fire-place "          .          .          .          .          .        2\ 

"  Wilkins   smothered   an   amazed   oath,  while   his 

rugged  face  was  a  study  of  novel  emotions  "        35 

"Airily  twisting  the  needle-like  ends  of  a  rat-tailed 

mustache"      .  .          .  .          .          .45 

"  Now   a  fraction   off  the  bottom.      The  tone  is 

almost  perfect"        .          .          .          .          .        67 

"  Wilkins  brought  the  hairy  exile  home  with  him  "        70 

' '  He  was  sore  about  something  and  ran  amuck  with 

a  big  pair  of  scissors "        .  78 

"The  coveted  stranger  had  suddenly  and  violently 

fallen  in  love "         .  ...        87 

[xiii 


Illustrations 


PAGE 

"Struck  a  heroic  attitude  as  he  shouted  "  .        98 

"It  seemed  to  rain   cans  of  corned  beef,   tongue 

and  deviled  ham"  .          .          .          .103 

' '  Snipped  a  generous  handful  from  the  end  of  the 

captive  beard "         .          .          .          .  1 1 7 

"The  wooden-bottomed  chair  caught  me  in  the 

small  of  the  back "  .          .          .          .129 

"The  wretch  was  crawling   toward   the  box   on 

hands  and  knees "  .          .          .          •      '35 

"A  sprightly  old  man   darted  into  view  and  ran 

down  the  gangplank "        .          .          .  .143 

' '  Hallelujah,  I  won  by  an  eighth  of  an  inch  "       .      147 

"And  laugh  in  his  bushy  beard   till  the  tears  ran 

down  into  it "  .  .          .          .  •      !  5  5 

' '  Behind  him  streamed  scores  of  villagers  "  .      165 

"  Uncle  Jedediah  woke  up  with  a  snort"    .  173 

"  Perhaps  he  would  prefer  to  work  out  this  problem 

for  himself,  Mr.  J.  Archibald  McKackney"       177 


xiv] 


THE    EPISODE    OF 
THE    TITIAN    BEARD 


J.    ARCHIBALD     McKACKNEY 

(Collector  of  Whiskers] 

CHAPTER   I 

THE   EPISODE   OF  THE   TITIAN   BEARD1 

ETE  in  a  bracing  autumn  afternoon  I  was 
playing  golf  on  the  links  which  adjoin 
my  estate.  I  was  alone  save  for  the  stimulat 
ing  companionship  of  Colonel  Bogey.  While 
driving  for  the  home  green  I  pulled  my  shot 
so  disastrously  that  the  ball  flew  off  at  a  sick 
ening  tangent  and  vanished  in  a  dense  wood 
land  as  if  the  devil  were  after  it.  Struggling 
through  the  underbrush  with  somewhat  peev 
ish  comment,  I  headed  for  the  tree  against 
which  the  ball  had  struck.  It  must  have 
caromed  wide  and  far,  for  the  search  was 
bootless. 

1  The  owner  of  the  peerless  Titian  beard,  Hank  Wilkins, 
plays  so  important  a  part  in  the  subsequent  narratives  that  it 
seems  advisable  to  preface  them  with  this  account  of  the  sin 
gular  manner  in  which  the  sailor  man  became  the  associate  of 
Mr.  McKackney.  (Editor's  Note.) 

[3 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


I  had  wandered  so  far  into  the  strip  of 
woodland  that  as  I  paused  to  mop  my  face, 
an  opening  in  the  trees  showed  me  a  green 
valley  and  a  hillside  of  pasture  beyond, 
bounded  by  low  stone  walls.  A  man  was 
moving  across  the  pasture,  and  so  vivid  a 
patch  of  color  gleamed  against  his  dark 
coat  that  I  waited  and  watched  him  with 
an  interested  eye.  As  the  distant  figure 
drew  nearer  I  became  more  puzzled  and 
intent. 

Just  then  the  sinking  sun  shot  a  slanting 
dazzle  across  the  pasture  and  the  dash  of 
vivid  crimson  on  the  wayfarer's  chest  gleamed 
like  a  sheet  of  flame. 

"  Good  Heavens,"  I  muttered.  "  It  is  the 
man's  whiskers  !  Nothing  so  very  rare  about 
the  pattern  but  that  Titian  red!  I  have  tried 
to  find  that  peculiar  shade  among  the  whis 
kers  of  three  continents.  I  must  have  his 
portrait  in  color,  even  if  I  am  compelled  to 
kidnap  him.  God  bless  me,  but  his  beard  is 
priceless!  Why,  I  have  heard  of  only  one 
other  such  specimen,  and  before  I  could  locate 
4] 


Episode  of  the   Titian  Beard 

the  owner  he  carelessly  dropped  a  match  in 
his  whiskers,  and  they  were  utterly  consumed. 
I  wept  at  the  news  and  am  not  ashamed  of  it." 

Without  more  delay  I  plunged  down  the 
slope,  clumsily  leaped  the  brook  and  crawled 
over  the  stone  wall  of  the  pasture.  The 
stranger  was  advancing  at  a  leisurely  gait,  and 
as  he  halted  to  fill  and  light  his  pipe  I  shiv 
ered  with  an  apprehension  inspired  by  the  rec 
ollection  of  the  tragic  experience  which  I  had 
just  called  to  mind.  My  quarry  was  a  middle- 
aged,  stocky  person,  whose  features  and  gar 
ments  were  battered  to  the  edge  of  the  disrepu 
table.  Above  his  flaming  beard  emerged  a 
sun-burnt  cheek,  and  beneath  his  shaggy  red 
brows  twinkled  a  merry  and  unabashed  eye. 
As  we  met  in  the  cow-path  I  remarked  as 
calmly  as  possible : 

"  Pleasant  weather,  sir." 

The  stranger  replied  in  a  voice  that  rum 
bled  from  his  chest: 

"  It's  all  right  for  them  that  can  afford  to 
toddle  around  with  them  silly  little  sticks 
you've  got  in  that  bag.  I'm  lookin'  for  a 

[5 


J.  Archibald  McKackney 


"I'm  looltin'  for  a  game  where  they  give  away  ham-and- 
eggs  for  first  prizes." 

game  where  they  give  away  ham-and-eggs  for 
first  prizes." 

I  hesitated,  but  the  spirit  of  the  collector 
was  rampant  and  another  glance  at  the  peer 
less  sweep  of  Titian  whiskers  compelled  me  to 
throw  prudence  to  the  winds. 

"  Will  you  not  do  me  the  honor  of  coming 
home  to  dine  with  me?  "  1  asked.  "  My  little 
6] 


Episode  of  the   Titian  Beard 

place  is  on  the  other  side  of  the  links.  It  will 
be  a  rare  pleasure  for  me,  I  assure  you." 

The  bearded  one  blinked  and  tugged  at  his 
hirsute  treasure  with  his  two  hands  as  he  cried : 

"  What  kind  of  a  josh  is  this?  I'm  noth 
ing  but  a  stranded  seafarin'  man  making  his 
way  cross  country  to  Coveport  in  the  hope  of 
finding  a  berth  aboard  a  coastin'  vessel. 
Thanks,  but  I  think  your  head-piece  may  need 
calkin'." 

The  upshot  of  this  was  that  J.  Archibald 
McKackney,  a  gentleman  of  some  wealth  and 
station,  found  himself  in  the  odd  position  of 
pleading  with  this  derelict  wayfarer  to  come 
and  dine  in  a  mansion.  Red  Whiskers  still 
eyed  me  with  an  air  of  gloomy  misgiving,  but 
at  last  consented  with  the  frank  comment : 

"  I  must  be  the  lost  Charlie  Ross,  and  as 
for  you — well,  the  keeper  was  lookin'  the 
other  way  when  you  broke  out  for  an  after 
noon  romp." 

Pleased  with  my  success,  I  sighed  as  I  re 
flected  that  with  my  sanity  already  impeached 
it  might  be  extremely  difficult  to  broach  the 

[7 


J.  Archibald  McKackney 

topic  of  the  whiskers.  However,  we  managed 
to  cross  the  golf  course  without  more  bicker 
ing  until  my  home  loomed  ahead,  set  far 
back  amid  a  park-like  expanse  of  grounds. 
The  seafaring  pilgrim  balked  in  his  tracks 
and  shook  his  head  so  violently  that  his  beard 
waggled  like  a  crimson  banner  in  a  big  wind. 

"  I've  heard  they  stow  the  rich  lunatics  in 
such  elegant  dry  docks  as  this  while  their 
stearin'  gear  is  being  repaired,"  he  shouted. 
"  But  Hank  Wilkins  don't  belong  in  this 
gilded  bug-house,  not  by  a  ding-donged 
sight." 

The  mutiny  was  suppressed  only  when  a 
head-gardener  and  a  gate-keeper  happened  to 
appear.  Their  attitude  toward  me  was  so  sane 
and  respectful  and  my  orders  were  so  intelli 
gently  delivered  that  the  pilgrim  gulped  down 
his  fears  and  walked  up  the  rambling  path 
with  somewhat  nervous  tread.  In  his  time 
Mr.  Hank  Wilkins  must  have  seen  many 
curious  things,  but  when  he  was  ushered  into 
the  library  by  a  liveried  footman,  his  ruddy 
countenance  became  positively  pale  with  emo- 
8] 


Episode  of  the   Titian  Beard 

tion.  I  could  not  help  chuckling  as  I  viewed 
the  agitation  of  my  guest. 

"  Welcome  to  my  bachelor  quarters,  Mr. 
Wilkins,"  I  cried.  "  Will  you  have  some 
thing  to  drink  before  you  go  to  your  room  to 
dress  for  dinner?  " 

"  Can  a  duck  swim?  "  fervently  exclaimed 
Mr.  Hank  Wilkins.  "  Rye,  if  you  please, 
sir,  and  I  begin  to  think  your  intellect  is  get 
ting  its  bearings.  I  never  heard  a  saner  speech 
— but  all  I've  got  to  do  about  dressing  for 
dinner  is  to  comb  the  cockle-burrs  out  of  my 
whiskers  and  report  all  standin'." 

"  Yes,  your  whiskers,  of  course,"  I  absently 
murmured.  "  First  in  your  thoughts,  of 
course.  Pardon  me — yes,  you  will  find  your 
clothes  laid  out  and  a  man  to  help  you  into 
them."1 


1  Mr.  McKackney  being  of  a  spare  figure,  it  would  have 
been  impossible  for  the  burly  Hank  Wilkins  to  insert  himself 
in  evening  clothes  belonging  to  his  host,  even  with  the  aid  of 
a  shoe-horn.  The  butler,  however,  was  a  fine,  upstanding 
man,  who  owed  his  long  tenure  of  service  to  the  possession 
of  a  set  of  the  dignified  gray  whiskers  popularly  known  as 
"mud-guards."  It  is  to  be  presumed  that  some  of  his  extra 
raiment  was  requisitioned.  (Editor's  Note.) 

[9 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


Mr.  Wilkins  sputtered  and  choked  as  four 
fingers  of  aged  whisky  slid  down  his  dusty 
throat.  Then  like  one  in  a  dream  he  rolled 
in  the  wake  of  the  footman,  nor  did  I  observe 
at  the  time  that  the  decanter  was  still  tightly 
clutched  in  the  fist  of  my  guest. 

It  befell,  therefore,  that  while  the  outer 
man  was  being  adorned,  the  inner  man  was 
being  mightily  refreshed.  Before  the  valet 
swept  the  crimson  beard  aside  to  encircle  the 
bull-neck  of  Mr.  Wilkins  with  a  white  tie,  the 
blithe  little  devils  in  the  decanter  had  banished 
all  his  fears.  Beaming,  but  by  no  means  be 
fogged,  the  sailorman  returned  below  stairs, 
a  heroic  figure  in  evening  clothes  whose  daz 
zling  front  was  wholly  eclipsed  by  the  magnifi 
cent  torrent  of  his  beard.  I  saw  him  do  a 
few  steps  of  a  hornpipe  in  the  hall  and  bow 
low  before  a  mirror,  but  he  assumed  an  im 
posing  dignity  of  bearing  as  he  joined  me  in 
the  library. 

"  If  I  don't  come  out  of  this  pipe-dream 
soon,  and  I'm  to  shift  myself  into  these 
clothes  again,"  said  my  guest  with  great  em- 
10] 


Episode  of  the   Titian  Beard 


"The  magnificent  torrent  of  his  beard." 

phasis,    "  I'll    chop    these    whiskers    off,    so 
help  me." 

"  Chop  those  whiskers  off !  "  I  echoed  with 
a  catch  in  my  voice.     "  My  God,   Wilkins, 


J.  Archibald  McKackney 

don't  say  that  again,  I  beg  of  you.  Your 
beard,  I— I " 

"  But  they  douse  my  gold  buttons  and 
shiny  shirt,"  he  protested,  and  then  wish 
ing  to  humor  me,  he  added  in  soothing 
accents : 

"  Now  don't  get  dippy  again.  You've  been 
doing  well.  If  you  admire  my  whiskers  take 
'em  as  a  gift." 

"  Perhaps  I  ought  to  explain,"  I  began,  just 
as  the  butler  announced  that  dinner  was 
served.  As  the  sailor  heaved  himself  out  of 
his  chair,  his  roving  eye  was  drawn  to  a  line 
of  portraits  on  the  opposite  wall  which  dis 
played  some  of  the  choicest  specimens  of  my 
collections. 

"  Oh,  look  at  the  oakum-faced  sundowners, 
millions  of  'em,"  he  exclaimed.  "  I've  fath 
omed  his  soft  spot.  He's  gone  wrong  on 
whiskers,  poor  man." 

As  Mr.  Wilkins  lumbered  into  the  din 
ing  room  he  sonorously  chanted  the  im 
promptu  refrain  which  was  weaving  in  his 
brain: 

12] 


Episode  of  the   Titian  Beard 

"  Whiskers  short  and  whiskers  long, 
Whiskers  weak  and  whiskers  strong, 
Why,  this  is  the  place  where  /  belong." 

My  robustious  guest  was  in  a  mood  even 
more  mellow  and  melodious  after  his  glass  had 
been  thrice  filled  with  champagne,  and  with 
his  beard  parted  and  flung  back  over  his 
shoulders  like  a  pair  of  brilliant  sash-curtains 
he  burst  into  snatches  of  deep-sea  chanties 
mingled  with  the  original  couplet: 

"  Where  the  seas  are  high  and  the  wind  so  gay 
Blows  through  my  whiskers  every  day." 

At  length  I  was  able  to  stem  the  tide  of 
convivial  song  and  roaring  talk  and  broached 
the  burning  topic  at  issue: 

"  I  wish  to  paint  your  beard,  Mr.  Wilkins, 
in  order  to  add  it  to  my  collection,  some  of 
whose  exhibits  caught  your  notice  in  the 
library." 

"  Paint  my  nose  sky-blue  and  pink  rings 
around  my  dead-lights,"  thundered  Mr.  Wil 
kins,  as  he  pounded  the  table  so  that  the 

[13 


y.  Archibald  McKackney 

glasses  danced  jigs.  "  Some  of  'em  plays 
they're  kings  or  trains  of  choo-choo  cars,  but 
whiskers  is  certainly  harmless  and  diverting." 

"  We  will  have  the  first  sitting  to-morrow 
morning,  then,"  said  I.  "  I  am  a  fair  ama 
teur  with  oils  and  I  can  assure  you  a  credit 
able  likeness." 

"  Don't  hurry  it,  sir,"  anxiously  put  in  the 
sailor.  "  It's  a  shame  to  spoil  a  beard  like 
mine  to  save  time,  which  was  made  for 
slaves." 

I  had  explored  some  of  the  remote  parts  of 
the  Seven  Seas  which  were  familiar  to  this 
deep-water  sailor,  and  the  later  hours  in  the 
library  fled  with  a  flowing  sheet.  Mr.  Wil- 
kins  became  hugely  interested  in  my  hobby 
after  fathoming  the  ardor  with  which  I  had 
braved  dangers  and  hardships  in  quest  of  rare 
whiskers,  and  before  midnight  we  had  learned 
to  esteem  each  other  as  men  of  uncommon 
parts  and  experiences. 

It  was  to  be  regretted  that  at  length  Mr. 
Wilkins  became  so  drowsy  that  he  suddenly 
fell  asleep  in  his  chair.  Nor  could  he  be 
14] 


Episode  of  the   Titian  Beard 

awakened  by  shouting,  shaking,  or  tickling  in 
the  ribs.  The  servants  had  gone  to  bed,  and 
after  tugging  in  vain  at  the  formidable  bulk 
of  my  guest,  I  decided  to  let  him  remain  as  he 
was.  I  reflected  that  he  was  comfortable,  and 
that  whenever  he  should  happen  to  come  to  he 
could  find  his  way  to  his  room.  'Pon  my  soul, 
he  was  like  a  dead  man.  I  surveyed  with  the 
most  respectful  admiration  the  flamboyant  and 
unique  beard  of  the  sleeper  and  went  upstairs. 

Some  time  later  in  the  night  I  was  aroused 
by  a  crashing  sound  and  a  scuffling  as  of  a 
struggle  somewhere  above  my  head.  Still 
dazed  with  sleep  I  pushed  the  electric  button 
at  my  bedside  and  waited  for  my  valet.  There 
was  no  response,  and  after  scrambling  to  the 
floor  I  turned  on  the  lights  and  rang  the  but 
ler's  bell.  After  waiting  through  intermina 
ble  moments  I  concluded  that  in  some  mys 
terious  fashion  my  household  was  prevented 
from  coming  to  my  aid. 

Tiptoeing  carefully  into  the  hall  I  stole 
down  the  broad  staircase  and  fairly  ran  for 
the  front  door.  It  had  flashed  into  my  mind 

[15 


J.  Archibald  McKackney 

that  the  sailor  might  be  conducting  a  lone- 
handed  series  of  depredations.  I  thought  at 
once  of  the  valuables  below  stairs,  and  I  bit 
terly  regretted  that  I  had  not  taken  more  pre 
cautions  to  guard  my  collection  of  precious 
stones,  a  fad  of  my  earlier  years,  during  which 
I  had  sought  to  make  my  collection  of  rubies 
the  finest  in  the  world. 

But  while  I  was  fumbling  with  the  lock,  the 
sound  of  a  prodigious  yawn  echoed  from  the 
library.  I  cast  a  swift  glance  over  my  shoul 
der  and  was  relieved  beyond  words  to  see  Mr. 
Hank  Wilkins  stretching  himself  in  the  depths 
of  his  luxurious  arm-chair. 

"  I  will  have  to  trust  him,"  I  gasped  to  my 
self.  "  I  believe  that  a  desperate  gang  of 
scoundrels  is  after  my  rubies.  I  was  warned 
only  a  week  ago  to  take  them  to  the  city  for 
safekeeping." 

I  fled  into  the  library  and  Mr.  Wilkins 
blinked  and  grinned  at  the  sight  of  my  agi 
tated  figure  in  pink  pajamas. 

"  Worried  about  my  getting  away  with  the 
silver,  Commodore?"  he  asked. 
16] 


Episode  of  the   Titian  Beard 

"  No,  no,"  I  stammered,  "  but  I  have  been 
foolish  enough  to  keep  in  that  small  safe  be 
hind  you  the  finest  collection  of  unset  rubies 
in  the  United  States.  Burglars  are  in  the 
house.  They  have  silenced  or  killed  my  ser 
vants.  They  will  kill  us  for  those  jewels. 
What  can  we  do?  Quick,  man." 

The  mind  of  Mr.  Wilkins  had  become  clear 
and  alert,  and  he  was  a  man  to  meet  such  a 
crisis  as  this  without  flinching. 

"  If  they've  captured  all  hands  but  us, 
there  must  be  a  gang  of  'em  with  desperate 
business  on  hand,"  he  whispered  hoarsely. 
"  And  we  can't  get  away.  And,  by  Jupiter, 
we  don't  want  to.  Let  'em  come.  Here,  open 
that  safe,  quick." 

'  They  will  blow  it  open  if  I  don't,  I  sup 
pose,"  I  groaned.  "  We  cannot  hide  the 
rubies  now.  They  will  turn  this  room  upside 
down  when  they  find  us  here." 

"  I  heard  steps  up  aloft  somewheres,"  mut 
tered  Mr.  Wilkins.  "  Open  that  safe,  I  tell 
you.  There,  that's  more  like  it."  While  I 
was  twisting  the  knob  of  the  combination,  the 

[I? 


.   Archibald  McKackney 


sailor  grabbed  a  bottle  of  mucilage  from  the 
writing  table.  As  I  withdrew  a  small  tray  on 
which  the  clustered  gems  gleamed  like  drops 
of  blood,  Mr.  Hank  Wilkins  swept  up  a 
handful,  let  a  stream  of  mucilage  fall  on  them, 
and  rolled  the  gems  in  his  two  fists.  Then, 
two  and  three  at  a  time,  he  stowed  the  rubies 
in  the  burrowed  depths  of  his  Titian  beard. 
It  was  the  work  of  seconds  only  to  scoop  up 
another  fistful  of  treasure,  smear  the  rubies 
with  the  gummy  fluid  and  bury  or  cache  them 
in  this  same  flaming  jungle  where  they  clung 
secure  and  wholly  invisible. 

"  Shut  the  safe  and  sit  down  calm  and  easy, 
sir,"  he  commanded  me.  "  If  the  coast  is 
clear,  we  may  make  a  run  for  it  yet." 

But  as  the  sailor  slipped  toward  the  nearest 
window,  hoping  to  find  a  way  of  retreat,  three 
masked  men  appeared  in  the  hall  doorway. 
Three  blue-barreled  revolvers  were  leveled  at 
me,  and  their  muzzles  looked  to  be  as  big  as 
megaphones.  The  leader  cried: 

"  Hands  up.  And  you  with  the  red  whis 
kers,  put  'em  over  your  head.  Ride  herd  on 
18] 


Episode  of  the   Titian  Beard 

'em,  Bill,  and  shoot  if  they  bat  an  eye  while 
we  tackle  the  safe." 

Mr.  Hank  Wilkins  stood  fixed  with  hands 
upraised  in  an  attitude  of  patriarchal  benedic 
tion  while  with  an  expression  of  humorous 
appreciation  he  listened  to  my  heroic  refusal 
to  reveal  the  combination  of  the  safe.  It  was 
not  until  the  door  had  been  blown  off  by  the 
wrathful  burglars  that  our  plight  became  men 
acing.  As  soon  as  the  empty  tray  was  dis 
covered  the  leader  whirled  on  me  with  black 
oaths  and  yelled: 

"  We  know  the  stuff  is  here.  It  ain't  up 
stairs,  and  we'll  blow  your  brains  out  if  you 
don't  give  up." 

The  room  was  ransacked  with  destructive 
fury,  desks  broken  open,  cupboards  smashed, 
while  one  burglar  stood  over  me  and  pressed 
a  revolver  against  my  bald  and  fevered  brow. 
Then  the  sailor  was  flung  to  the  floor  and 
bound  with  curtain  cords,  while  our  captors 
fairly  ripped  off  our  garments  in  their  ruthless 
search. 

"  By ,"  cried  the  leader,  "  toast 

[19 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


old  McKackney's  feet  and  let  him  yell. 
The  flunkies  is  all  doped  or  sand-bagged. 
The  rubies  is  in  this  room,  we  had  the  tip 
straight." 

To  the  horror  of  the  helpless  sailor  and  to 
my  own  unutterable  anguish,  I  was  plucked 
from  my  chair  and  borne  toward  the  fire 
place  in  which  smoldered  a  huge  back-log. 
My  struggles  were  so  frantic  and  my  cries  so 
piercing  that  two  of  the  rascals  were  wholly 
absorbed  in  this  hideous  task.  The  third  was 
busily  kicking  to  pieces  the  one  surviving  cabi 
net  and  Mr.  Hank  Wilkins  was  unnoticed  for 
the  moment. 

With  a  mighty,  grunting  heave  of  his  big 
chest,  and  with  every  splendid  muscle  swelled 
and  taut,  he  strained  against  his  bonds  in  a 
supreme  effort.  Nothing  weaker  than  a  wire 
cable  could  have  withstood  it.  The  curtain 
cords  snapped  and  the  sailor  was  on  his  feet 
with  a  bound  like  an  angry  cat.  Before  the 
nearest  burglar  could  turn,  Mr.  Wilkins  had 
hurled  a  mahogany  chair  at  him.  It  sped  like 
a  twelve-inch  shell,  dashed  his  victim  against 
20] 


Episode  of  the   Titian  Beard 


"  I   was   plucked  from  my  chair  and  borne  toward  the 
fireplace." 

the  wall  with  sickening  impact  and  left  him 
senseless.  His  revolver  clattered  from  his 
limp  hand,  and  Wilkins  scooped  it  up  as  he 
ran.  Before  the  pair  of  villains  near  the  fire 
place  could  do  more  than  let  me  fall  squirming 

[21 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


across  the  fender,  the  sailor  had  shot  one  of 
them  through  the  shoulder  and  beaten  the 
other  to  the  floor  with  the  heavy  butt  of  his 
weapon. 

Having  stood  me  on  my  feet,  my  rescuer 
disarmed  his  captives,  made  them  fast  to 
chairs  with  deft  knots  and  hitches  and  flew  up 
stairs  to  muster  the  servants.  One  by  one  he 
removed  their  gags  and  bonds,  kicked  and 
cuffed  the  effects  of  chloroform  from  their 
addled  brains  and  drove  them  trooping  down 
ahead  of  him.  While  they  bandaged  the  hurts 
of  the  burglars  I  was  able  to  steer  my  tottering 
limbs  to  the  telephone  and  summon  the  police 
from  Coveport. 

By  the  time  the  captives  had  been  carted 
away  to  the  hospital,  daylight  was  streaming 
through  the  library  windows.  It  illumined 
with  a  splendid  radiance  the  beard  of  Hank 
Wilkins,  who  was  engaged  in  plucking  from 
its  incarnadined  depths  a  wondrous  store  of 
jewels.  I  watched  him  with  profound  grati 
tude  and  admiration.  The  sailor  paused  in 
his  task  to  chant  a  melodious  inspiration  : 
22] 


Episode  of  the   Titian  Beard 

"Heigh,  ho!    Roll  and  go! 
Rubies  in  his  whiskers, 
For  he  told  me  so." 

I  grasped  the  hard  fist  of  my  guest  and  said 
with  deep  feeling: 

"  You  shall  not  roll  and  go  from  this  house 
as  long  as  it  suits  you  to  stay.  There  is  a  man 
behind  that  peerless  Titian  beard,  and  I  owe 
you  more  than  I  can  ever  repay." 

"  My  whiskers  is  my  fortune,  sir,"  cheerily 
replied  Mr.  Wilkins,  "  and  they  are  yours  to 
command,  even  if  you  want  to  dye  'em  bottle- 
green.  And  here  is  the  last  ruby  of  the  lot, 
sir,  all  safe  and  sound.  I  had  to  go  deep  into 
the  underbrush  to  dig  it  out." 

"  I  am  in  need  of  a  faithful  assistant,"  I 
told  the  honest  fellow  with  a  chuckle,  "  and 
I  am  inclined  to  dub  you  *  The  Hair  Ap 
parent.'  " 


[23 


THE    PURSUIT    OF 
THE    HIRSUTE    ORCHESTRA 


CHAPTER    II 

THE    PURSUIT   OF  THE   HIRSUTE 
ORCHESTRA 

I  HAD  hastened  to  my  "  work-shop,"  or 
laboratory,  early  in  the  morning  of  that 
memorable  day.  For  months  I  had  been  grop 
ing  my  way  toward  a  discovery  which  should 
set  the  world  of  science  by  the  ears  and  crown 
the  brow  of  J.  Archibald  McKackney  with  a 
unique  kind  of  fame.  My  Whisker  Collec 
tion,  notable  as  it  was,  had  almost  ceased  to 
focus  my  interests.  My  life  was  bound  up  in 
the  array  of  electrical  machinery,  burnished 
spheres,  rows  of  tuning  forks  and  other  com 
plex  apparatus  which  filled  the  long  room  up 
under  the  roof  of  my  mansion.  Even  my 
loyal  assistant,  Hank  Wilkins,  had  not  been 
taken  into  my  confidence.  The  former  sailor- 
man  was  left  to  pore  over  the  illustrated  cata- 

[27 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


logue  of  the  McKackney  Whisker  Collection 
while  I  toiled  behind  locked  doors.1 

Never  can  I  forget  the  moment  when  I 
rushed  into  the  upper  hall  and  shouted  down 
the  stairway  to  Wilkins  : 

"  Come  up  here.  I've  done  it,  by  the  Lord 
Harry.  Hurry  up.  The  grandest  discovery 
of  modern  times.  You  can  hear  it.  Beauti 
ful,  wonderful,  amazing." 

I  was  dancing  with  impatience  as  the  sailor 
fairly  flew  upstairs,  his  immense  crimson  beard 
streaming  over  his  shoulders  as  if  he  had  set 
studding-sails  for  a  swift  passage.  Our 
strange  adventures  in  search  of  rare  types  of 
whiskers  had  prepared  him  for  the  unexpected, 
but  for  once  he  was  almost  dismayed.  I 
grasped  his  arm  and  led  him  into  the  work 
shop  and  pointed  toward  a  row  of  rounded 
wooden  blocks  to  which  were  attached  arti- 

1  Mr.  Wilkins  was  also  engaged  in  a  scientific  problem  of 
his  own  at  this  time,  with  the  solution  of  which  he  hoped  to 
surprise  his  employer.  His  secret  task  was  doomed  to  failure 
however,  and  it  was  withheld  from  Mr.  McKackney's  knowl 
edge.  Mr.  Wilkins  hoped  to  be  able  to  compound  a  prepa 
ration  which  should  make  whiskers  moth-proof  in  all  clim 
ates.  (Editor's  Note.) 

28] 


The  Pursuit  of  the  Hirsute   Orchestra 

ficial  whiskers  of  various  lengths  and  patterns. 
The  faithful  fellow  rubbed  his  eyes  and  his 
jaw  dropped.  If  the  display  of  false  whiskers 
puzzled  him,  the  maze  of  elaborate  mechan 
isms  to  right  and  left  fairly  bewildered  him. 
The  series  of  bellows  geared  to  a  small  engine 
and  dynamo  next  drew  his  attention  and  his 
expression  was  so  extraordinary  that  I  man 
aged  to  explain; 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  frighten  you,  Wilkins, 
and  it  will  take  time  to  batter  this  achievement 
into  that  thick  skull  of  yours.  Sit  down  and 
I  will  try  to  make  it  clear." 

I  could  not  restrain  a  nervous  laugh,  and 
my  voice  was  not  easily  controlled  as  I 
mopped  my  face  and  went  on: 

"  I  am  excited,  Wilkins,  and  small  wonder. 
After  many  heartbreaking  failures  and  incred 
ible  effort,  I  have — I  have — been  able  to  apply 
the  theories  of  musical  vibration  to  the  human 
whisker.  For  ages  the  winds  of  Heaven 
have  been  sweeping  with  wonderful  melody 
through  the  whiskers  of  mankind,  which  has 
been  deaf  to  the  magic  of  their  harmonies." 

[29 


J.  Archibald  McKackney 

Wilkins  made  a  brave  rally  and  tried  to 
meet  my  astounding  statement  half-way  as  he 
fairly  shouted : 

"The  devil  you  say,  sir!  Then  my  peer 
less  Titian  beard  must  be  a  whole  brass  band. 
Do  you  mean  to  say  you  can  play  tunes 
on  'em?" 

He  had  blindly  stumbled  on  the  very  climax 
of  my  discovery,  and  as  I  waved  my  arm 
around  the  room  I  told  him : 

"  That  is  what  I  hope  to  do,  and  before 
very  long  if  you  will  help  me.  Did  you  ever 
see  an  ^Eolian  harp?" 

"  One  of  those  boxes  full  of  strings  that 
make  soft  and  soothing  sounds  when  tickled 
by  the  wind?"  he  replied.  "Why,  I  sailed 
with  a  skipper  that  had  one  in  his  cabin  sky 
light.  But  you  could  hear  that  music,  and  my 
whiskers  have  been  dumb  for  thirty  years." 

Then  I  told  him,  as  simply  as  possible,  how 
after  an  exhaustive  study  of  the  laws  of  vibra 
tion  and  sound  waves  I  had  evolved  the  theory 
that  there  must  be  a  similitude  between  the 
.^Eolian  harp  and  the  Human  Whisker.  The 

30] 


The  Pursuit  of  the  Hirsute   Orchestra 

instrument  was  but  waiting  for  the  player. 
But  further  progress  had  seemed  hopeless 
after  I  discovered  by  experiment  that  the  aver 
age  vibrations  of  the  Human  Whisker  when 
stirred  by  the  wind  range  from  ten  thousand 
to  forty  thousand  per  second.  Now  it  is  well 
known,  as  I  explained,  that  the  practical  range 
of  the  musical  scale  is  hardly  more  than  four 
thousand  vibrations  per  second  for  the  highest 
note  of  the  piccolo  flute.  It  was  therefore 
evident  that  the  sound  of  the  vibrating  whis 
ker  is  beyond  the  reach  of  the  human  ear. 
This  accounted  for  the  failure  of  the  human 
race  to  detect  its  own  hirsute  music,  as  Wil- 
kins  was  quick  to  comprehend.  And  because 
these  tones  were  inaudible  without  some  means 
of  greatly  magnifying  and  reco'rding  sound, 
my  most  arduous  efforts  had  been  bent  toward 
developing  the  powers  of  the  microphone. 

When  under  unusual  mental  pressure  Mr. 
Hank  Wilkins  sometimes  burst  into  snatches 
of  impromptu  doggerel,  and  before  I  could 
carry  my  explanation  any  farther  he  chanted 
with  great  vehemence: 

[31 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


"  Will  I  hear  my  whiskers  singin' 

When  the  wind  is  sou'-sou'-west  ? 
And  melodious  music  ringin' 
From  the  region  of  my  vest?  " 

I  could  not  help  smiling  at  his  faith  in  my 
assertions  and  I  hastened  to  finish  my  expla 
nation.  I  told  him  how  my  specially  devised 
improvements  of  the  microphone,  together 
with  my  newly  discovered  principles  of  sound 
wave  motion,  had  enabled  me  to  hear  the  tones 
of  the  Human  Whisker  when  set  in  vibration 
by  air  currents,  and  that  the  resonators  con 
trived  by  Hemholtz  had  shown  me  how  to 
distinguish  the  fundamental  notes  from  the 
confusing  over-tones  which  determined  the 
timbre  or  clang-tint.1  Wilkins  heard  me  out 
with  admirable  patience,  although  he  pulled 
at  his  beard  with  nervous  fingers  as  if  eager 
to  test  his  own  share  of  hirsute  harmony. 
When  I  paused  he  asked  me  if  I  could  "  tune 

1  The  Editor  has  omitted  from  Mr.  McKackney's  manu 
script  several  pages  of  highly  technical  analysis  of  the  prin 
ciples  of  acoustics  involved  in  his  discovery.  Such  discussion 
more  properly  belong  in  the  scientific  work  now  in  course  of 
preparation. 

32] 


The  Pursuit  of  the  Hirsute   Orchestra 

up  a  few  bass  or  tenor  whiskers  and  give  him 
some  action." 

I  moved  over  to  my  switchboard  and  halted 
only  to  tell  him  that  the  length  and  texture 
of  the  whisker  determine  the  number  of  sound 
waves  and  therefore  the  vibratory  pitch  or 
note.  "  False  whiskers  will  do  for  experi 
ments,"  I  added,  "  but  they  lack  a  certain 
fullness  of  tone  which,  I  am  sure,  must  be 
found  in  the  living  growth."  Then  I  asked 
Wilkins  to  hold  the  receivers  of  the  micro 
phone  battery  to  his  ears  while  I  started  the 
bellows. 

My  assistant  gingerly  sat  himself  down  at 
a  table  littered  with  wires  and  disks  and  cells, 
and  faced  the  row  of  rounded  wooden  blocks 
which  were  adorned  with  such  various  pat 
terns  of  ornamental  whiskers  as  the  "  Picca 
dilly  Weeper  "  (No.  2),  the  "  Burnside,"  the 
"  Mutton-chop,"  the  "  Galway,"  the  "  Chin 
Curtain"  (full  size),  the  "Chest-warmer," 
and  the  "  Populists'  Delight." 

I  confess  that  my  hand  trembled  with  tense 
expectancy  as  I  began  to  operate  the  electric 

[33 


.   Archibald  McKackney 


keys.  Then  the  bellows  began  to  heave  and 
stir  and  the  false  whiskers  were  violently  agi 
tated,  one  set  after  another.  Of  course  I  could 
hear  no  resultant  sounds  from  the  vibrations 
thus  set  in  motion,  and  I  was  delighted  when 
Wilkins  smothered  an  amazed  oath  while 
his  rugged  face  was  a  study  of  novel  emo 
tions.  There  had  come  to  his  ears  a  succes 
sion  of  musical  sounds  unlike  anything  he  had 
ever  heard.  He  informed  me  that  one  re 
minded  him  of  a  violin;  another  sounded  like 
the  lingering  sweetness  of  a  twanged  harp- 
string;  while  a  third  suggested  a  violoncello. 
Mingled  with  these  were  incredibly  high- 
pitched  and  piping  notes  that  soared  far  above 
any  octaves  known  to  human  instruments. 
There  were  discords,  of  course,  because  I  had 
not  progressed  as  far  as  trying  to  tune  these 
experimental  whiskers. 

I  asked  Wilkins  to  move  one  of  the  dum 
mies  aside  and  step  in  its  place.  I  was  wild 
with  eagerness  to  try  a  living  subject.  Leav 
ing  one  set  of  bellows  pumping  at  full  blast, 
I  rushed  to  snatch  up  the  receivers.  The  stiff 
34] 


J.   Archibald  McKackney 

breeze  fanned  the  noble  beard  of  Wilkins  and 
spread  it  out  like  a  crimson  panel.  After 
listening  for  several  minutes,  I  dropped  the 
instruments  and  could  not  help  shouting: 

"  Hurrah,  I  was  right.  No  more  false 
whiskers.  Oh,  the  mellow  richness  of  your 
tone,  Wilkins.  Never,  never  trim  your  whis 
kers  without  my  supervision.  After  lunch  we 
must  discuss  the  plans  for  assembling  an  or 
chestra  with  a  human  key-board.  I  will  spare 
no  expense  to  find  the  needed  assortment  of 
whiskers." 

As  we  went  down  stairs  I  was  pleased  to 
hear  Wilkins  humming  behind  me : 

"  As  long  as  there's  harvests  of  whiskers  to  grow, 
We  shall  have  music  wherever  we  go." 

It  was  late  that  night  before  I  was  able 
to  outline  the  final  instructions  which  should 
send  my  assistant  forth  on  the  most  difficult 
mission  of  our  checkered  career  together.  He 
was  not  appalled  in  the  least,  however,  and  I 
had  reason  for  renewed  gratitude  that  so 
36] 


The  Pursuit  of  the  Hirsute   Orchestra 

resourceful  and  dauntless  a  companion  as  Wil- 
kins  had  been  granted  me  in  the  pursuit  of  my 
hobby.  It  was  Wilkins  who  had  obtained  the 
portrait  of  the  Insane  Cossack  with  the  Pink 
Whiskers  after  a  perilous  journey  across 
Siberia,  and  that  splendid  trophy  in  its  massive 
gilt  frame  hung  facing  him  as  we  chatted  in 
my  library.  It  was  in  itself  an  inspiration  and 
a  reminder. 

On  the  table  were  strewn  my  sketches  and 
diagrams  that  indicated  the  various  styles  of 
whiskers  needed  to  perfect  the  musical  scale 
which  I  had  resolved  to  assemble  as  soon  as 
possible.  They  were  grouped  according  to 
the  pitch  required,  and  carefully  numbered 
and  described.  He  could  not  go  far  wrong 
with  these  charts.  He  was  to  go  out  into  the 
highways  and  hedges  and  find  twenty-two 
men — no  more,  no  less,  to  equip  me  with  a 
range  of  three  octaves  for  my  Hirsute  Orches 
tra.  They  would  be  offered  handsome  sala 
ries  to  visit  me  for  an  indefinite  period,  and 
already  I  had  given  orders  to  have  the  billiard 
room  and  annex  made  into  comfortable  dormi- 

[37 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


tories  with  a  private  dining-room.  These 
guests  were  to  be  carefully  selected  as  per  the 
diagrams  furnished  Wilkins,  and  I  explained 
to  him: 

"  Each  of  these  species  of  whiskers  will 
give  forth  a  different  note  when  properly 
tuned  and  all  you  will  have  to  do  is  to  consult 
your  directions.  For  example,  here  is  Face 
Number  Six  —  Close  Cropped  Sideboards  (see 
page  1  1  8  of  the  illustrated  catalogue  of  my 
collection),  or  Face  Number  Nine  —  Crisp, 
Pointed  Vandyke,  such  as  young  doctors 
affect.  If  my  recent  experiments  with  the 
tuning  forks  have  not  misled  me,  this  latter 
type  of  whisker  should  develop  a  clear  and 
bell-like  Middle  C." 

Wilkins  ventured  to  object  : 

"  But  I  can't  tell  whether  they'll  be  melo- 
jious.  Supposing  I  happen  to  ship  you  a 
shockin'  consignment  of  discords." 

He  also  inquired  why  he  should  not  be 
allowed  to  pick  up  "  a  bunch  of  the  hairiest, 
whiskerest  Johnnies  he  could  find  and  let  Mr. 
McKackney  trim,  clip  and  tune  them  to  suit." 
38] 


The  Pursuit  of  the  Hirsute   Orchestra 

I  explained  with  some  slight  impatience  that 
I  could  not  think  of  waiting  for  such  whiskers 
as  these  to  season  and  gain  timbre — that  a 
beard  is  like  a  violin,  and  needs  age  to  give  it 
tone.  Rather  sharply  I  ordered  Wilkins  to  be 
sure  to  send  me  no  whiskers  that  had  been 
worn  for  less  than  three  years. 

I  left  him  sitting  by  the  library  fire  with 
his  head  in  his  hands  studying  his  charts. 
The  prospect  of  asking  perfect  strangers  for 
the  use  of  their  whiskers  seemed  to  disturb 
him  now  that  he  was  on  the  eve  of  setting  out 
in  chase.  But  I  knew  that  no  difficulties  could 
make  him  flinch  once  he  was  fairly  on  the  trail 
of  a  coveted  whisker. 

My  estate  is  remote  from  populous  towns, 
and  Wilkins  had  decided  to  head  for  Boston 
as  the  most  promising  field  for  his  quarry. 
From  his  detailed  reports  I  later  learned  that 
upon  reaching  that  city  he  laid  his  course  for 
the  wharves  and  sailors'  boarding-houses 
where  he  was  most  likely  to  run  across  old 
friends.  This  was  a  wise  choice  also  for  tech 
nical  reasons,  because  I  afterwards  discovered 

[39 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


that  the  whiskers  of  the  seafaring  members 
of  the  orchestra  surpassed  the  others  in  musi 
cal  qualities.  I  explained  this  on  the  ground 
that  they  had  been  exposed  to  strong  winds 
and  rain  and  sun  until  they  were  toned  and 
seasoned  to  an  uncommon  degree  —  but  I  am 
wandering  from  my  story. 

Wilkins'  first  capture,  it  seems,  was  made 
as  he  was  nearing  a  saloon  where,  in  other 
days,  he  had  consorted  with  the  sailormen  of 
Boston.  Sighting  an  old  shipmate,  Peter 
O'Dwyer  by  name,  my  assistant  was  delighted 
to  note  that  he  had  grown  a  set  of  whiskers 
"  that  would  caulk  a  ship's  yawl."  Consult 
ing  his  chart  Wilkins  saw  at  once  that  the 
whiskers  looked  very  much  like  "  Number 
Thirteen  (Middle  Octave),  medium  length, 
square  cut,  bushy  growth." 

He  overhauled  O'Dwyer  and  over  a  table 
in  the  back  room  of  the  tavern  renewed  a  briny 
friendship.  Wilkins  began  to  glimpse  the 
troubles  that  threatened  to  beset  him  when 
O'Dwyer  was  moved  to  ask: 

"  You're  lookin'  at  me  kind  of  cock- 
40] 


The  Pursuit  of  the  Hirsute   Orchestra 

eyed  and  queer,  Hank.  Don't  my  face  fit 
me?" 

Wilkins  unfolded  his  bulky  bundle  of  docu 
ments  and  jabbing  one  sheet  with  his  stubby 
forefinger  exclaimed: 

"  No  offense  meant,  Pete,  but  I  want  your 
whiskers.  There's  a  reward  out  for  a  man 
that  can  match  these  specifications.  Tell  me 
first,  how  long  have  you  worn  them  ?  " 

He  was  assured  that  the  O'Dwyer  whiskers 
had  sprouted  four  years  back,  or  just  after 
these  two  had  parted  in  Shanghai.  Wilkins 
came  at  once  to  the  point  and  told  him: 

"  Forty  dollars  a  month  and  keep  you 
like  a  prince.  A  job  right  out  of  a  fairy 
story — that's  what  I  offer  you.  And  I'll  give 
you  a  juicy  advance  the  minute  you  sign 
articles." 

Mr.  O'Dwyer  narrowly  eyed  his  friend, 
and  was  unfeeling  enough  to  reply: 

"  I'm  plannin'  to  ship  aboard  a  bark  to 
morrow,  and  you'd  better  come  along  with 
me.  Booze  always  did  give  you  singular 
visions.  Did  you  dream  you'd  started  a  mat- 

[41 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


tress  factory  and  wanted  my  whiskers  for 
stuffing?" 

Wilkins  saw  that  it  would  only  alarm  his 
shipmate  to  enlarge  upon  the  musical  values 
of  whiskers  and  tactfully  based  his  persuasions 
upon  a  show  of  cash.  Still  mystified,  but  con 
fiding  in  the  oft-proven  friendship  of  Wil 
kins,  able  seaman  O'Dwyer  at  length  declared 
that  he  was  ready  to  follow  him  until  the  sur 
face  of  Hades  became  solidly  congealed,  or 
words  to  that  effect.  As  they  walked  toward 
the  water  front  a  salty  breeze  swept  up  from 
the  harbor  and  fairly  whistled  through  the 
notable  beards  of  these  two  seafarers.  Wil 
kins  halted  in  his  tracks  and  cocked  his  head 
as  if  eagerly  listening.  O'Dwyer  stared  at 
him  with  gloomy  misgivings  as  if  his  suspi 
cions  were  trooping  back,  and  muttered 
something  about  "  having  known  'em  to  hear 
voices  in  the  early  stages." 

As  Wilkins  tells  it,  he  felt  himself  blush 
up  to  the  eyes  as  he  came  to  himself  with  a 
start  and  thought  aloud  : 

"  I  just  couldn't  help  listening.  But  of 
42] 


The  Pursuit  of  the  Hirsute   Orchestra 

course  my  tones  was  invisible  to  the  naked 
ear." 

After  putting  O'Dwyer  aboard  a  train  to 
be  shipped  to  me  as  the  first  "  note  "  har 
vested,  Wilkins  set  out  after  additional  frag 
ments  of  stray  harmony.  Among  the  several 
prizes  captured  later  in  the  day  was  the  cook 
of  a  coasting  schooner  who  proved  to  be  a 
treasure  indeed.  When  sighted  he  was  leaning 
against  his  galley  airily  twisting  the  needle- 
like  ends  of  a  rat-tailed  mustache,  while  a  slim 
goatee  jutted  from  his  chin  like  the  point  of 
a  marlin  spike.  Wilkins'  observations  showed 
his  quick  grasp  of  the  technique  of  his  ardu 
ous  mission. 

"  I  could  see  that  he  belonged  with  the  rest 
of  my  sweet  singers,"  he  explained  to  me, 
"  for  them  little  wind-cutters  was  keyed  way 
up  for  the  piccolo  flute.  And  that  goatee 
added  to  them  cunning  mustachioes  had  ought 
to  make  a  noise  like  pickin'  three  strings  of 
a  guitar  at  once." 

The  cook  was  a  Portuguese  madly  in  love 
with  a  girl  in  New  Bedford  and  the  offer  of 

[43 


J.  Archibald  McKackney 

a  situation  ashore  made  him  desert  his  pots 
and  pans  with  cries  of  joy.  Gaining  assur 
ance  from  these  early  successes  Wilkins  left 
the  water  front  for  more  conventional  regions 
and  was  routed  in  confusion  for  the  first  time 
in  his  dashing  career.  While  crossing  the 
Common  there  approached  him  a  slim  and 
very  erect  gentleman  with  a  pompous  dignity 
of  bearing.  He  carried  a  bundle  of  books 
under  one  arm,  and  seemed  absorbed  in 
weighty  reflections.  Wilkins  appraised  him  as 
a  person  of  intellectual  distinction  and  thrilled 
with  pleasure  as  he  stared  at  the  trim,  brown 
"  vandyke "  which  appeared  to  have  been 
tended  with  scrupulous  care.  In  a  letter  to 
me  Wilkins  wrote: 

"  I  wished  you  had  given  me  a  tuning  fork 
to  try  them  out,  Commodore,  but  this  high- 
browed  party  struck  me  as  a  perfect  specimen 
of  Number  Five  and  properly  sound  and 
seasoned.  I  thought  I'd  just  put  it  to  him  as 
man  to  man.  So  I  braced  up  to  him  with  a 
most  respectful  apology,  and  tried  to  tell  him 
that  as  I  felt  sure  that  he  would  be  willing  to 
44] 


'  Airily  twisting  the  needle-like  ends  ot  a  rat-tailed 
mustache." 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


help  along  the  cause  of  Acoustics  and  Har 
mony,  I'd  like  to  borrow  his  whiskers,  he  to 
go  along  with  them  of  course.  I  asked  him 
to  spare  me  only  a  few  minutes'  conversation, 
and  promised  to  return  him  and  his  whiskers 
in  good  order." 

Condensing  Mr.  Wilkins'  narrative,  it  ap 
pears  that  the  stranger  fled  with  panicky 
strides,  and  cried  out  and  wildly  beckoned  to 
the  first  policeman  he  saw.  Wilkins  stood  his 
ground  until  the  policeman  made  for  him  and 
then  he  dove  like  a  frightened  rabbit  into  the 
nearest  subway  entrance.  He  was  followed 
aboard  the  train  by  a  smartly  dressed  young 
man  with  a  twinkling  eye  who  sat  down  by  his 
side  and  remarked  : 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  I  simply  can't  help 
asking  what  you  said  to  Professor  R.  Xerxes 
Peabody.  He  is  my  uncle,  you  know,  and  I 
never  saw  him  rattled  before.  Upon  my 
word,  it  was  like  watching  a  glacier  blow 
up." 

Wilkins  was  worried  and  upset,  but  the 
young  man's  friendly  air  soon  won  his  confi- 
46] 


The  Pursuit  of  the  Hirsute   Orchestra 

dence,  and  at  length  he  explained  the  purpose 
of  his  mission.  The  stranger  laughed  so  long 
and  loud  that  Wilkins  began  to  resent  the  ill- 
timed  levity.  Then  the  young  man  explained 
that  Boston  was  immensely  proud  of  Profes 
sor  R.  Xerxes  Peabody  as  its  most  cultured  citi 
zen,  and  that  never  in  his  life  had  he  spoken  to 
a  human  being  without  an  introduction.  The 
idea  of  asking  him  for  "  the  loan  of  his  whis 
kers  "  struck  the  cheerful  nephew  as  such  an 
absolutely  incredible  event  that  he  fairly  begged 
Wilkins  to  "  fall  off  at  the  next  station  and 
have  a  drink  "  in  celebration.  Wilkins  was 
persuaded  to  follow  his  acquaintance,  and  a 
little  later  he  related  the  morning's  adven 
tures.  I  am  sure  that  as  the  listener  studied 
the  candid  features  and  keen  eyes  of  Wilkins 
he  must  have  viewed  him  with  growing  seri 
ousness,  for  he  finally  exclaimed  with  much 
emphasis : 

"  You  aren't  in  the  least  bit  dippy,  Mr.  Wil 
kins.  It  is  gorgeous,  every  bit  of  it.  And  you 
simply  must  let  me  in  on  this.  I  am  a  musi 
cian  myself  in  an  amateurish  way.  And  I  am 

[47 


J.   Archibald  McKackney 

dying  to  meet  Mr.  J.  Archibald  McKackney, 
whom  I  know  by  reputation  of  course  for  his 
famous  Whisker  Collections." 

The  conscientious  Wilkins  protested  that 
his  young  acquaintance  was  ineligible  because 
his  face  was  as  smooth  as  a  hard-boiled  egg, 
and  called  him  a  "  fiddle  without  any  strings." 
But  this  Mr.  Arthur  Harrison  Colby  was  a 
perisistent  youth  and  he  argued  with  much 
spirit  that  while  Mr.  Wilkins  was  able  to 
handle  seafaring  folk,  he  had  already  run  out 
of  this  web-footed  material  and  was  invading 
new  territory  in  which  he  was  apt  to  "  find 
seventeen  kinds  of  trouble."  He  quoted  Pro 
fessor  Peabody  as  an  example  of  the  perils 
that  confronted  the  musical  pilgrim,  and 
wound  up  with  this  proposition : 

"  Now,  I  can  guarantee  to  take  care  of  a 
dozen  numbers  on  your  chart  among  my  own 
acquaintances  if  you  will  ring  me  in  as  assist 
ant  on  the  harmonious  round-up." 

Wilkins  thought  it  over  and  finally  wired 
me  the  circumstances  with  a  request  for  my 
O.K.  I  was  glad  to  send  my  approval  and 
48] 


'The  Pursuit  of  the  Hirsute   Orchestra 

next  day  received  a  note  from  Mr.  Colby  in 
which  he  said: 

"  I  thank  you  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart 
for  your  confidence  in  me.  I  have  had  a  very 
expensive  musical  education  and  I  realize  the 
importance  of  your  undertaking.  I  promise 
on  my  honor  to  spare  no  pains  to  help  Mr. 
Wilkins  assemble  the  most  harmonious  col 
lection  of  whiskers  that  ever  sung  together 
like  the  morning  stars." 

Mr.  Colby  was  as  good  as  his  word.  Three 
days  later  Wilkins  found  him  waiting  in  the 
hotel  lobby.  With  him  were  no  fewer  than 
a  dozen  mustached  and  bearded  strangers. 
Most  of  them  were  fashionably  dressed,  al 
though  four  or  five  of  these  recruits  looked 
badly  battered  and  seedy.  Before  Wilkins 
could  shout  a  greeting,  this  admirable  young 
Colby  waved  his  bamboo  cane  as  if  it  had 
been  a  baton,  and  his  followers  rose  as  one 
man,  and  bowed  with  great  dignity.  They 
were  presented  by  their  leader  as  "  pretty  near 
two  full  Octaves,  shy  one  corking  fine  note, 
which  got  lost  in  the  shuffle.  He  was  a  merry 

[49 


J.  Archibald  McKackney 

wag,  whom  we  plucked  from  the  Salvation 
Army  bread  line.  On  the  way  hither  he 
sprinted  for  a  weighing  machine,  explaining 
that  before  taking  a  musical  engagement  he 
wanted  to  try  his  scales." 

Wilkins,  of  course,  carefully  inspected  the 
company,  compared  their  individual  whisker 
growths  with  his  charts  and  checked  them  off 
one  by  one.  The  results  were  so  gratifying 
that  he  asked  Mr.  Colby  to  "  steer  the  whole 
symphony  into  the  bar  and  wet  its  pipes." 
Presently  the  Salvation  Army  jester  drifted 
in,  and  Wilkins  was  able  to  tell  Mr.  Colby 
that  nineteen  of  the  twenty-two  musical  notes 
had  been  secured.  The  remaining  three,  how 
ever,  were  the  "  rarest  whiskers  that  grew  in 
these  latitudes,"  according  to  the  experienced 
Wilkins,  and  he  decided  to  send  Mr.  Colby 
ahead  with  his  "  Octaves  "  for  speedy  deliv 
ery.  He  himself  would  stay  behind  and  en 
deavor  to  run  down  the  missing  notes.  Mr. 
Colby  explained  that  several  of  his  followers 
were  personal  friends  of  his  who  had  been 
selected  from  the  club  windows  of  Boston. 
50] 


The  Pursuit  of  the  Hirsute   Orchestra 

"  They  will  be  missed,  because  they  were  dis 
tinctly  decorative,"  he  added. 

From  the  end  of  the  bar  there  came  the 
subdued  harmony  of  an  impromptu  quartet 
singing : 

"  There's  music  in  the  Hair-r-r." 

Wilkins  opined  that  it  was  time  to  move, 
and  Mr.  Colby  promised  to  deliver  his  melo 
dious  hirelings  at  their  destination  in  ship 
shape  order.  I  will  say  for  Mr.  Colby  that 
he  did  deliver  his  consignment  intact,  but  their 
arrival  at  my  place  was  unpleasantly  spectacu 
lar.  From  the  railroad  station  they  marched 
into  my  grounds  in  column  of  twos  with  half 
the  village  at  their  heels.  Mr.  Colby's  Har 
vard  friends  had  festooned  their  whiskers  with 
bows  of  crimson  ribbon  and  at  frequent  inter 
vals  they  shouted  a  stentorian  cheer  which 
wound  up  with  : 

"  Whiz-z-z,  Whee-e,  Bing  Boom  Ah-h. 
We're  the  yEol-i-an  Orchestra-a." 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


I  succeeded  in  quieting  this  disturbance  and 
showed  these  fortissimo  pilgrims  to  their  quar 
ters  in  the  annex.  No  sooner  were  they  off 
my  hands  than  Captain  Jonathan  Rust  was 
setting  the  dormitory  by  the  ears.  He  was  an 
old  sea-dog  and  a  confounded  nuisance,  and  I 
had  reason  to  wish  that  I  might  strangle  him 
in  his  baritone  whiskers.  First  he  took  offense 
at  the  harmless  Portuguese  sea  cook  and 
demanded  that  he  be  removed  to  other  quar 
ters.  The  old  curmudgeon  made  a  social 
issue  of  eating  at  the  same  table  with  a  man 
whom  he  would  feel  at  liberty  to  kick  the 
length  of  a  deck,  and  whittled  out  several 
wooden  belaying  pins  which  he  hurled  at  the 
head  of  the  panicky  Portuguese.  Then  he 
insisted  that  the  company  should  be  divided 
into  two  watches  for  the  sake  of  discipline. 
A  musical  crank  argued  that  the  natural  divi 
sion  was  into  the  three  Octaves,  and  these  two 
quarreled  night  and  day.  Some  of  the  others 
took  sides,  and  I  was  in  mortal  fear  that  they 
would  fall  to  pulling  each  other's  whiskers  and 
so  wreck  their  tonal  values. 
52] 


The  Pursuit  of  the  Hirsute  Orchestra 

On  the  top  of  these  trials,  the  able  seaman, 
Peter  O'Dwyer,  persisted  in  making  fish-nets 
for  diversion.  Of  course  he  had  to  upset  a 
bucket  of  tar  in  his  whiskers,  and  Heaven 
only  knew  whether  I  could  get  him  cleaned  up 
in  time  for  the  first  rehearsal.  When  Mr. 
Colby  and  his  friends  were  not  playing  golf, 
they  started  a  fresh  row  among  old  Rust, 
the  musical  crank,  and  the  Portuguese  cook, 
and  egged  them  on  with  Harvard  cheers.  I 
breathed  a  prayer  of  fervent  thanksgiving 
when  Wilkins  wired  that  he  was  en  route  with 
the  twenty-second  prize  in  tow.  This  musical 
fragment  proved  to  be  an  Irish  stevedore  with 
a  coy  and  peerless  fringe  sprouting  from  be 
neath  his  smooth-shaven  chin.  I  was  so 
glad  to  see  Wilkins  that  I  included  this  Mr. 
O'Hara  in  my  effusive  greeting  at  the  station. 
The  old  gentleman  was  ill  at  ease  and  backed 
away  from  me  as  he  croaked : 

"  Your  fifty  dollars  is  in  me  pants,  and  I'd 
go  half  way  to  Hell  for  twice  as  much  as  that. 
But  I'll  be  ready  to  lep  through  a  windy  if 
you  do  begin  talkin'  to  yourself  and  makin' 

[53 


J.  Archibald  McKackney 

faces  at  me.  Mister  Wilkins  here  says  he  will 
give  me  a  job  on  the  high  C's.  I  sailed  thim 
when  a  lad,  but  they  was  niver  like  this." 

Mr.  O'Hara  was  cheered  to  find  several 
salt-water  comrades  in  the  dormitory  and  the 
forceful  presence  of  Wilkins  soon  removed  the 
discords  from  what  he  called  my  "  human 
anthems."  In  the  evening  I  summoned  my 
able  assistant  to  the  library  and  congratulated 
him  upon  his  brilliantly  successful  pilgrimage. 
My  hasty  survey  of  the  tout  ensemble  led  me 
to  believe  that  the  material  for  my  unique  Hir 
sute  Orchestra  was  ready  to  be  classified  and 
tuned.  Wilkins  reported  that  Captain  Rust 
had  suddenly  became  nervous  about  the  dan 
ger  of  fire  among  the  luxuriant  growths  of 
whiskers  gathered  in  the  dormitory  and  had 
tried  to  place  an  embargo  on  smoking.  I 
ordered  Wilkins  to  equip  the  old  man  with  a 
dozen  hand  grenades  and  a  chemical  extin 
guisher  and  to  appoint  him  chief  of  the  Fire 
Department,  and  then  I  took  up  the  more  im 
portant  subject  of  assembling  the  orchestra  in 
my  laboratory  for  preliminary  practice. 
54] 


The  Pursuit  of  the  Hirsute   Orchestra 

"  Have  the  full  three  octaves  here  at  ten 
o'clock  to-morrow  morning,  Wilkins,"  I  said 
in  parting.  '  You  and  I  are  on  the  eve  of  a 
marvelous  revelation." 

"  All  we  need  is  a  fair  wind,  sir,"  solemnly 
spoke  the  faithful  fellow  from  the  doorway. 


[55 


CHAPTER    III 

THE    TRAGEDY    OF   THE    PEASANT'S 
REVENGE 

WHEN  the  twenty-two  members  of  the 
Hirsute  Orchestra  filed  into  my 
library  on  the  morning  named  for  the  first 
rehearsal,  I  surveyed  their  varied  assortment 
of  whiskers  with  a  good  deal  of  pride  and 
satisfaction.  It  had  been  no  easy  task  to  find 
and  assemble  this  animated  keyboard  with 
which  I  proposed  to  test  my  new  theory  of 
musical  vibration.  But  before  attempting  to 
extract  harmony  from  their  whiskers  I  had  to 
contend  with  annoying  discords  of  individual 
temperament,  for  my  assistant,  Hank  Wilkins, 
had  selected  these  gentlemen  for  their  whis 
kers  alone.  Here  on  the  eve  of  the  first 
rehearsal  old  Captain  Rust  showed  a  quarrel 
some  mood.  He  had  been  picked  up  on  the 
Boston  water  front  because  his  snowy  and 

[59 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


majestic  beard  promised  to  supply  a  musical 
note  of  rare  power  and  resonance,  and  I  had 
been  very  patient  with  his  infirmities  of  tem 
per.  But  as  he  entered  the  library  at  the  head 
of  the  three  octaves,  he  bellowed  at  me  in  a 
stormy  voice  : 

"  I  ain't  going  to  be  treated  in  this  ridiki- 
lus  fashion.  I'll  take  my  whiskers  and  go 
home.  I  didn't  expect  to  be  herded  with  a  pas- 
sel  of  looneytics  and  used  as  a  gosh-whanged 
^Eolian  harp." 

My  most  tactful  efforts  finally  subdued  him, 
and  I  mention  the  incident  only  to  show  the 
kind  of  trials  I  had  to  contend  with  at  this 
time.  As  simply  as  possible  I  explained  to  the 
company  the  theory  of  sound  vibration  and 
the  application  of  these  proven  facts  to  the 
Human  Whisker.  They  listened  with  respect 
ful  interest,  although  their  eyes  could  not  help 
wandering  to  study  the  long  lines  of  framed 
photographs  and  paintings  on  my  walls,  which 
exhibited  the  choicest  specimens  of  my  unique 
collection  of  whiskers,  wild  and  tame. 

At  length  I  led  them  upstairs,  and  after 
60] 


The   Tragedy  of  the  Peasant' s  Revenge 

me  trooped  Boston  clubmen,  deep-water  skip 
per,  sea-cook,  physician,  artist  and  lawyer,  all 
of  them  eager  to  know  more  about  the  reason 
for  my  interest  in  them.  I  ushered  them  into 
my  "  work-shop,"  and  directed  them  to  be 
seated  at  random  on  three  rows  of  chairs 
which  were  arranged  on  a  platform  at  one  end 
of  the  spacious  room.  They  stared  with 
amazement  at  the  seeming  chaos  of  intricate 
machinery  that  filled  the  place  and  I  hastened 
to  explain: 

"  We  will  set  to  work,  gentlemen,  accord 
ing  to  my  tentative  diagrams  of  the  respective 
tonal  qualities  of  your  whiskers.  Captain 
Rust  is  placed  at  the  lowest  note  of  the  scale 
to  begin  with." 

The  old  gentleman  rebelled  at  being  put 
lower  in  the  scale  than  the  Portuguese  sea- 
cook  and  swore  that  he  outranked  the  "  putty- 
faced  son  of  a  tea-kettle."  The  more  intelli 
gent  members  of  the  orchestra  grasped  the 
fact,  however,  that  the  longer  and  more  luxu 
riant  the  whisker  the  lower  must  be  the  pitch 
of  the  resultant  musical  note,  and  that  I  had 

[61 


J.  Archibald  McKackney 

mastered  the  principle  of  the  ^Eolian  harp  in 
a  novel  and  startling  manner.  One  by  one  the 
"  notes  "  of  this  singular  scale  were  given 
their  proper  positions  according  to  my  care 
fully  prepared  diagrams.  It  was  more  or  less 
guesswork  until  I  could  begin  to  tune  these 
picturesque  and  delicate  vibratory  media. 

At  last  I  was  ready  to  seat  myself  in  front 
of  the  electric  switch  board  which  operated 
the  automatic  series  of  bellows,  and  I  applied 
to  my  ears  the  receivers  of  the  microphone 
batteries.  Wilkins,  my  assistant,  had  fastened 
the  head  of  each  bewhiskered  gentleman  in  a 
cushioned  clamp  and  adjusted  a  polished  sound 
reflector  just  behind  him.  I  have  been  accused 
of  lacking  a  sense  of  humor,  and  I  confess  I 
could  see  no  cause  for  the  suppressed  hilarity 
which  seemed  to  be  shaking  Wilkins  to  his 
foundations.  The  aspect  of  these  solemn  rows 
of  strangers  pinned  in  position  -like  so  many 
luxuriant  botanical  specimens  was  of  course 
odd  and  unusual.  From  the  pained  expres 
sions  of  their  features  I  judged  that  they  ex 
pected  me  to  electrocute  them  to  a  man.  But 
62] 


The   Tragedy  of  the  Peasant 's  Revenge 

my  trained  artistic  eye  was  busy  with  admiring 
the  beautiful  regularity  with  which  the  serried 
whiskers  grew  shorter  and  shorter  as  they 
ascended  the  scale  of  three  octaves. 

At  length  I  pressed  a  key  and  my  fingers 
were  tremulous  with  excitement.  The  bellows 
directly  in  front  of  old  Captain  Rust  drove 
a  swift  blast  of  air  on  his  face  and  his  beard 
played  to  and  fro  like  a  miniature  cascade.  I 
waited  an  instant  and  again  turned  on  the  air 
current.  The  bellows  next  in  line  responded 
to  an  electric  impulse  and  the  flowing  "  Dun 
drearys  "  of  the  Salvation  Army  derelict  wag 
gled  perceptibly.  I  turned  to  my  tuning  forks 
and  almost  stopped  breathing.  I  had  heard 
the  first  note  struck  from  the  vibrations  of 
Captain  Rust's  magnificent  beard  and  now  I 
found  that  the  next  ascending  note  was .  no 
more  than  a  quarter  of  a  tone  off  the  key.  I 
realized  that  my  fondest  dreams  were  coming 
true,  and  my  emotions  were  beyond  words. 

Step  by  step  my  marvelous  mechanism 
stirred  the  sensitive  vibratory  impulses  of  this 
human  scale  into  sounds  too  fine  to  be  heard 

[63 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


by  the  human  ear.  Ah,  but  they  were  rich 
and  enjoyable  !  Up,  up  the  scale  I  tried  each 
note  until  at  last  the  needle-like  mustaches  and 
spiked  goatee  of  the  Portuguese  sea-cook  were 
trilling  a  faint,  sweet  chord,  yes,  a  genuine 
chord  of  three  notes,  not  quite  in  key,  but 
magnificently  promising.  I  was  so  carried 
away  with  joy  and  excitement  that  I  played 
furiously  up  and  down  the  scale,  oblivious  to 
the  false  notes  and  discords,  now  caressing 
the  harmonious  whiskers  with  a  pianissimo 
breeze,  again  fetching  great  booming  notes 
from  the  beard  of  Captain  Rust  with  cyclonic 
fortissimo  gusts. 

My  instruments  were  of  course  eager  to 
hear  for  themselves,  and  one  by  one  I  allowed 
them  to  use  the  microphone  receivers  and 
listen  to  the  music  of  each  other's  whiskers. 
At  last  I  had  to  tear  them  away  from  this 
fascinating  diversion,  and  announced  that  the 
tuning  process  would  begin  at  three  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon. 

Wilkins  had  already  summoned  a  skilled 
barber  from  Boston,  with  instructions  to  bring 
64] 


The   Tragedy  of  the  Peasant 's  Revenge 

his  complete  outfit  of  shears.  I  was  fidgeting 
with  anxiety  until  the  orchestra  had  reassem 
bled.  As  soon  as  affairs  were  in  readiness  I 
instructed  the  phlegmatic  German  barber  as 
follows : 

"  You  must  be  sure  to  do  exactly  as  I  tell 
you.  When  I  am  prepared  to  test  the  first 
note  (that  old  gentleman  on  the  lower  right), 
you  are  to  trim  him  as  directed.  Be  sure  to 
preserve  the  most  perfect  symmetry.  If  you 
cut  on  one  side,  the  other  must  match  it  to 
a  hair's  breadth  or  there  will  be  discord." 

The  barber  was  a  person  of  discretion  and 
made  no  comment  beyond  a  muttered,  "  Mein 
Gott,  vat  it  is?  "  He  wore  a  beard  of  Teu 
tonic  cut  over  which  I  made  him  slip  a  small 
silk  bag  lest  it  might  be  set  vibrating  with 
inharmonious  effect.  As  soon  as  the  knight 
of  the  shears  knelt  beside  Captain  Rust,  I 
found  the  pitch  of  the  note  with  a  tuning  fork, 
while  I  told  the  barber: 

"  Clip  a  little  off  the  left  side.  Now  the 
same  off  the  right.  Ah,  that  is  better.  It  is 
still  a  shade  too  low.  Now  a  fraction  off 

[65 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


the  bottom.  The  tone  is  almost  perfect.  Clip 
the  merest  strand  from  under  his  chin.  There, 
he  is  absolutely  in  tune." 

With  deft  shears  the  bewildered  barber 
altered,  curtailed  and  harmonized  the  con 
trasting  types  of  whiskers  that  were  displayed 
along  the  ornate  sequence  of  three  octaves. 
By  shortening  the  vibratory  media  the  tones 
were  easily  raised,  but  when  I  found  three  sets 
of  whiskers  pitched  too  low,  I  was  compelled 
to  ask  their  owners  to  withdraw  from  rehear 
sals  until  the  natural  process  of  growth  should 
lower  their  pitch. 

When  I  dismissed  the  orchestra  for  the  day 
I  cautioned  them  to  keep  away  from  damp 
places  lest  the  myriads  of  delicate  strings  of 
their  "  ^Eolians  "  should  shrink  and  get  out 
of  tune.  Wilkins  suggested  advising  them 
to  use  moth  powder  freely,  but  I  think  the 
fellow  was  jesting. 

I  sent  for  him  that  evening  and  confided 
my  cherished  purpose.  In  another  fortnight 
I  hoped  to  be  ready  to  play  simple  airs  in  the 
key  of  C  Natural  on  the  McKackney  Hirsute 
66] 


lit 


.   Archibald  McKackney 


Orchestra.  Then  I  intended  to  invite  to  a 
private  concert  or  exhibition  a  score  of  the 
leading  musicians  and  scientists  of  the  East, 
including  the  head  of  the  Musical  Department 
of  Harvard  University.  My  bold  crusade 
in  behalf  of  the  Human  Whisker  as  a  field  for 
Nature  study1  had  won  me  some  small  reputa 
tion  in  the  intellectual  world,  and  I  had  reason 
to  believe  that  my  invitation  would  be  respect 
fully  entertained. 

The  rehearsals  were  conducted  day  and 
night,  and  so  far  advanced  were  my  plans 
three  days  before  the  date  of  the  concert  that 
I  had  the  superb  pleasure  of  listening  to  a 
programme  of  no  less  than  eight  popular  airs 
played  with  notable  beauty  of  expression.  I 
had  become  like  a  man  in  a  dream,  and  had 
lost  all  interest  in  other  affairs.  I  therefore 
paid  little  attention  to  Hank  Wilkins  when  he 
read  me  the  following  cablegram  from  Berlin  : 

"  Bearded  peasant  shipped  per  instructions.  Due 
arrive  steamer  Bremen  nineteenth. 

"  STEINBACH." 

1  See  Appendix  A. 

68] 


The   Tragedy  of  the  Peasant 's  Revenge 

"  Bearded  peasant? "  I  echoed  blankly. 
"  What  the  deuce  is  that.  Some  curio  my 
Berlin  agent  has  sent  me  on  approval?  Do 
you  know  anything  about  it,  Wilkins?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  he  replied.  "  Don't  you  recall 
Steinbach's  sending  you  word  that  he  had 
found  a  peasant  near  Hanover  with  a  beard 
six  feet  four  and  a  half  inches  long,  which  he 
braided  and  wore  in  three  half-hitches  around 
his  neck?  You  wanted  to  add  him  to  your 
collection,  sir,  and  we  were  on  the  point  of 
starting  for  Germany  to  look  him  over  when 
you  ran  afoul  of  your  musical  vibration  theory 
and  chucked  everything  else  in  the  discard." 

Then  I  remembered  the  bearded  peasant. 
I  had  cabled  Steinbach  to  ship  him  to  me  and 
to  ask  Lloyds  to  insure  his  whiskers  for  the 
voyage.  But  I  had  no  time  to  bother  with  my 
collections  now,  for  the  concert  was  only  two 
days  away.  I  asked  Wilkins  to  run  down  to 
New  York  and  fetch  the  trophy  home  and  find 
quarters  for  him.  In  another  week  I  could 
study  and  photograph  him  at  my  leisure. 
Then  I  dismissed  this  rare  importation  from 

[69 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


-J^" 
"  Wilkins  brought  the  hairy  exile  home  with  him." 

my   mind  and  plunged  with   furious  energy 
into  the  final  series  of  rehearsals. 

Wilkins  met  the  steamer  as  directed  and 
brought  the  hairy  exile  home  with  him,  while 


The   Tragedy  of  the  Peasant 's  Revenge 

curious  crowds  followed  them  to  my  gates.  I 
did  not  clap  eyes  on  him  at  the  time,  and  the 
incidents  leading  up  to  the  horrible  tragedy 
perpetrated  by  this  base  wretch  came  to  my 
knowledge  after  the  event.  The  bearded  one, 
Hans  Bumphauser  by  name,  turned  out  to  be 
a  vain  and  stupid  yokel  who  had  been  vastly 
puffed  up  by  the  invitation  of  the  "  great 
American  nobleman."  His  whiskered  emi 
nence  had  won  him  a  certain  notoriety  in  his 
own  village  and  he  had  come  to  conquer  new 
and  glittering  worlds.  He  had  expected  to 
be  received  by  me  in  person  and  the  ends  of 
his  beard  were  bound  with  gaudy  fillets  of 
tinsel  by  way  of  a  festal  toilet.  It  vexed  and 
disgruntled  him  to  find  that  the  "  nobleman  " 
was  too  busy  to  notice  him. 

The  humiliated  object  de  art  sent  numerous 
messages  to  the  mansion  demanding  art  audi 
ence  with  me,  between  whiles  combing  and 
braiding  his  beard  with  praiseworthy  diligence 
and  holding  himself  in  readiness  for  the  sum 
mons  that  never  came.  I  had  "forbidden  the 
household  servants  to  annoy  me  with  outside 


jf.  Archibald  McKackney 

matters,  and  I  had  forgotten  the  very  exist 
ence  of  Hans  Bumphauser,  the  pride  of  Eistel- 
berg.  Would  to  Heaven  I  had  given  him  the 
finest  suite  in  my  mansion  and  dined  him  at 
my  right  hand! 

It  seems  that  in  his  gloomy  excursions  over 
the  estate  the  bearded  peasant  had  noticed  the 
unusual  number  of  whiskered  gentlemen  who 
seemed  to  be  welcome  guests  at  the  mansion. 
He  saw  them  going  to  and  fro  in  groups  and 
squads,  and  the  sensational  beard  of  Hank 
Wilkins  also  helped  to  confirm  the  black  sus 
picions  of  Hans  Bumphauser  that  these 
strangers  had  crowded  him  out  of  favor  with 
the  Lord  of  the  Manor.  He  was  even  over 
heard  to  mutter,  "  Gott  in  Himmel,  are  these 
second-rate  whiskers  to  make  me  forgotten 
already?"  But  no  importance  was  attached 
to  this  ominous  hint  of  what  was  shortly  to 
befall. 

Jealousy  was  flaming  his  grief  into  slow 
and  sullen  anger  and  he  began  to  hunger  for 
revenge.  His  thick  wits  could  devise  no  way 
of  harming  the  neglectful  and  fickle  Mr.  Mc- 
72] 


The   Tragedy  of  the  Peasant 's  Revenge 

Kackney  until  in  an  evil  moment  he  happened 
to  meet  my  orchestral  barber  in  the  village 
tavern.  To  his  fellow-countryman  the  peas 
ant  unfolded  his  tale  of  deception  and  heart 
ache.  They  lingered  over  many  glasses  of 
beer  and  the  barber  became  criminally  confi 
dential.  He  began  to  brag  of  his  own  import 
ance  in  my  household  and  hinted  that  upon  his 
skill  and  fidelity  hinged  the  success  of  the  most 
important  undertaking  of  my  life. 

The  bearded  one  listened  with  more  inter 
est  and  fairly  pricked  up  his  ears  when  the 
barber  became  loquacious  enough  to  tell  him, 
"  Every  day  I  must  trim  the  whiskers  of  the 
twenty-two  visiting  gentlemen  exactly  just  so 
or  there  will  be  ten  thousand  devils  to 
pay." 

Hans  Bumphauser  objected  that  it  was  a 
sin  to  trim  the  whiskers  at  all,  and  that  no 
sane  man  would  ever  lay  hand  upon  a  whisker 
except  in  kindness.  But  the  barber  sighed: 

"  Ach,  but  it  is  the  music.  I  have  not  heard 
the  wonderful  music,  but  I  have  seen  it  every 
day." 

[73 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


Bumphauser  wanted  to  know  what  the 
music  had  to  do  with  a  barber,  and  the  latter 
was  rash  enough  to  say: 

"  It  is  the  grand  concert  to-morrow,  stupid. 
But  if  I  do  not  do  my  duty  right,  the  concert 
will  be  ruined.  And  Herr  von  McKackney 
will  die  of  a  broken  heart." 

Of  course  the  misguided  peasant  was  keenly 
interested  by  this  time,  and  he  had  heard 
enough  to  make  him  thirst  for  more  informa 
tion.  The  German  farm-hand  with  whom  he 
lodged  had  been  previously  summoned  to  the 
music-room  to  help  move  some  heavy  machin 
ery,  and  he  had  watched  the  barber  at  work 
with  his  tuning.  By  persistent  questioning 
Hans  Bumphauser  began  to  piece  together 
a  working  theory  of  revenge.  In  short,  his 
conclusion  must  have  been  that  if  in  some  way 
he  could  tamper  with  the  whiskers  of  the 
twenty-two  guests  he  would  deal  a  mortal 
blow  at  the  hated  Herr  von  McKackney. 

Ignorant  of  any  menacing  danger  I  was 
preparing  to  welcome  the  distinguished  com 
pany  of  scientists  and  musicians.  They  were 
74] 


The   Tragedy  of  the  Peasant '  s  Revenge 

to  arrive  for  dinner  Saturday  night.  In  the 
evening  I  planned  to  deliver  a  lecture  to  pave 
the  way  for  the  demonstration,  and  on  Sun 
day  morning  they  would  listen  to  the  first 
concert  of  the  Hirsute  Orchestra.  Fearing 
to  expose  myself  to  baseless  ridicule  I  had 
so  worded  my  invitations  that  my  guests 
should  not  learn  the  nature  of  my  discovery 
until  I  had  a  chance  to  explain  it  on  scientific 
grounds. 

As  was  to  be  expected,  they  came  in  min 
gled  moods  of  doubt  and  curiosity,  but  I  flat 
ter  myself  that  before  the  dinner  was  over  they 
had  begun  to  consider  the  journey  well  worth 
while.  After  coffee  and  cigars  in  the  library 
I  requested  their  attention  and  began  to  read 
from  a  roll  of  manuscript.  The  savants  were 
interested  from  the  start.  The  originality  of 
my  views  made  them  breathless,  but  I  took 
them  step  by  step  from  one  unassailable  prem 
ise  to  an  equally  sound  conclusion.  The  first 
mention  of  "  Whiskers  "  evoked  a  ripple  of 
levity,  but  this  was  soon  smothered  in  hearty 
applause  as  I  began  to  describe  the  experi- 

[75 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


ments  which  had  led  to  the  assembling  of  the 
Hirsute  Orchestra.  Then  I  laid  my  manu 
script  aside  and  announced  in  ringing  tones: 

"  You  may  think  me  a  madman,  gentlemen, 
but  to-morrow  morning  you  shall  listen  to  the 
music  which  I  have  tried  to  describe.  You 
shall  hear  for  yourselves  and  be  convinced. 
You  have  been  very  patient,  and  your  reward 
shall  be  in  proportion.  Gentlemen,  the  Hir 
sute  Orchestra  is  an  accomplished  fact 
and  -  " 

There  was  a  sound  of  clattering  footsteps 
in  the  hall.  I  paused  and  waited,  and  an  in 
stant  later  Hank  Wilkins  burst  into  the  library 
like  a  tornado.  He  was  breathless  from  run 
ning,  and  his  eyes  were  fairly  popping  from 
his  head.  I  had  never  seen  him  so  agitated 
and  I  knew  that  he  bore  some  dreadful  tidings. 
Even  after  years  my  memory  is  stamped  with 
the  words  which  he  hoarsely  stammered: 

"  The  Hirsute  Orchestra  is  busted  all  to 
Hell,  Commodore.  There's  no  repairin'  dam 
ages.  It's  a  total  wreck." 

The  guests  rose  in  confusion  while  I  swayed 
76] 


The   Tragedy  of  the  Peasant's  Revenge 

in  my  tracks  and  could  only  murmur  in  a  far 
away  voice  that  I  scarcely  recognized  as  my 
own: 

"Explain  yourself,  Wilkins.  For  Heaven's 
sake,  pull  yourself  together.  I — I — don't 
understand." 

My  devoted  assistant  snatched  a  decanter 
from  a  table  and  hurried  to  my  side  as  he 
cried: 

"  Throw  in  a  stiff  one,  sir.  You'll  need  it. 
It  was  the  prize  Dutchman,  sir,  the  Bump- 
hauser  lad,  that  came  by  cable.  He  was  sore 
about  something  and  he  ran  amuck  with  a  big 
pair  of  scissors — just  now — in  the  dormitory. 
Some  of  the  ^Eolians  had  turned  in  early  and 
was  asleep.  He  hacked  at  their  whiskers  right 
and  left.  The  devastation  was  appalling. 
Great  handfuls  chopped  out  of  'em.  Then  he 
broke  into  the  smoking  room.  Four  of  the 
priceless  Middle  Octaves  were  playing  poker. 
Before  they  could  get  steerage  way  the  whis 
kers  of  two  of  'em  was  in  ghastly  ruins." 

I  fell  into  an  armchair  and  gasped  for  air. 
I  could  not  find  speech,  and  while  the  company 

[77 


~. 
IS 


| 


The   Tragedy  of  the  Peasant 's  Revenge 


stood  as  if  rooted  to  the  floor  Wilkins  con 
cluded  : 

"  And  while  I  was  running  to  the  scene  I 
met  old  man  Rust  and  Peter  O'Dwyer  stag- 
gerin'  home  from  the  village.  Their  whiskers 
had  gone  by  the  board,  decks  swept  as  clean  as 
the  back  of  my  hand,  sir.  The  Bumphauser 
pirate  had  loaded  them  with  booze  and  gashed 
their  whiskers  off  in  the  back  room  of  the 
tavern.  There  ain't  a  whole  Octave  left,  and 
the  Hirsute  Orchestra  is  fit  for  nothing  but 
the  junk-shop." 

"  Did  you  capture  the  infernal  scoundrel?" 
I  finally  managed  to  gasp. 

"  He's  bound  and  gagged  in  the  stable,  sir, 
and  I  left  orders  to  hang  him  in  his  own  whis 
kers  if  he  moved  an  eyelash." 

With  sympathetic  accord  my  guests  stole 
into  the  dining  room,  and  as  soon  as  possible 
I  begged  them  to  excuse  me  for  the  night.  As 
I  fairly  tottered  into  the  hall,  leaning  on  the 
arms  of  my  faithful  Wilkins  I  said  to  him : 

"  I  want  to  forget  it  all  for  a  while.  It  is 
the  most  crushing  blow  of  my  long  life.  We 

[79 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


must  go  away  from  here  at  once.  Engage 
passage  on  the  next  steamer  bound  for  Eu 
rope.  Thank  Heaven,  Wilkins,  your  own 
peerless  Titian  beard  was  spared." 


80] 


THE    EPISODE    OF 
THE    SENTIMENTAL    ANARCHIST 


CHAPTER   IV 

THE    EPISODE    OF   THE   SENTIMENTAL 
ANARCHIST 

THE  Atlantic  liner  Hoch  Der  Kaiser  was 
two  days  out  from  New  York  when 
my  indefatigable  assistant,  Hank  Wilkins, 
appeared  in  the  smoking-room  door  and  beck 
oned  to  me  to  join  him  on  deck.  I  shook  my 
head  in  a  negative  manner,  for  I  was  playing 
poker  with  several  American  trust  magnates 
who  had  shown  themselves  to  be  a  jovial  com 
pany  of  philanthropists  and  most  congenial 
companions.  After  gaining  control  of  most 
of  the  food  supply  and  transportation  systems 
of  their  own  country  they  were  en  route  for 
Europe  to  attempt  the  formation  of  world 
wide  monopolies  in  pickles,  beer,  coffins,  flour 
and  so  on. 

Presently  Wilkins  returned  to  the  doorway 
and  beckoned  with  more  emphasis  than  before. 

[83 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


He  was  fidgeting  with  impatience  and  knowing 
that  he  would  not  venture  to  call  me  for  a 
trifling  matter  I  left  the  game  and  followed 
him  on  deck.  He  begged  my  pardon  and 
said: 

"  You  might  regret  it  if  I  didn't  tell  you  at 
once,  sir.  But  you  have  been  after  it  for  three 
years,  and  I  never  saw  a  finer  -  " 

"  Not  the  Full-blooming  Aurora  pattern?  " 
I  gasped  with  a  flash  of  intuition.  "  You 
don't  mean  that  you  have  discovered  a  speci 
men  of  the  rarest  varieties  of  the  Human 
Whisker?" 

"  I  haven't  examined  them  close,"  he 
replied,  "  but  it  looks  that  way,  sir.  You 
recall  that  imperfect  imitation  you  have  at 
home,  sir  —  the  Hall  Caine  portrait  in  the 
billiard  room?  Well,  that  looks  like  a  deck 
swab  beside  what  I've  found." 

I  was  overjoyed  and  declared  that  I  must 
see  it  at  once.  Wilkins  chuckled  with  pleas 
ure  at  my  eagerness  and  as  he  led  me  aft  he 
explained  that  the  whiskers  belonged  to  a 
second-cabin  passenger,  who  looked  like  a  Rus- 
84] 


Episode  of  the  Sentimental  Anarchist 

sian.  Wilkins  had  tried  in  vain  to  scrape  his 
acquaintance,  for  the  fellow  seemed  so  nervous 
and  wild-eyed  that  he  fled  from  all  overtures. 
In  fact,  so  Wilkins  informed  me,  "  he  flocked 
by  himself  as  if  he  was  afraid  of  something." 
We  lingered  at  the  rail  that  barred  the  pas 
sage  to  the  second  cabin,  and  scanned  the 
long  row  of  steamer  chairs.  Wilkins  was 
confident  that  the  Russian  would  take  a  turn 
on  deck  before  dinner,  and  said  that  when  he 
walked  it  was  with  a  head-long  gait  and  inco 
herent  mutterings  to  himself. 

A  little  later  a  man  of  singular  appearance 
emerged  from  the  deck  house  aft  and  crossing 
to  the  vessel's  side  stood  glaring  at  the  inter 
minable  carpet  of  blue  water.  His  figure  was 
slender  and  slouching,  his  attire  well  cared  for 
but  shabby,  and  that  which  made  his  otherwise 
commonplace  aspect  conspicuous  was  the 
framing  of  his  features.  Beard,  whiskers, 
mustache,  there  were  no  lines  of  demarcation. 
The  luxuriant  and  rayonnant  growth  encir 
cled  and  fairly  obscured  his  lineaments.  It 
was  almost  as  if  he  wore  a  mask,  but  such 

[85 


J.  Archibald  McKackney 


a  mask.  As  the  sunset  glow  became  enmeshed 
in  this  peerless  decoration,  its  forest  of  tendrils 
was  illumined  and  the  man's  .face  loomed  in  a 
kind  of  golden  aurora. 

I  silently  shook  the  hand  of  Wilkins  and 
told  him  that  if  Hall  Caine  could  behold  this 
peerless  specimen  he  would  shave  for  very 
humiliation.  There  was  only  one  thing  to  do. 
I  must  have  the  Russian's  portrait  painted  by 
the  finest  artist  in  Europe. 

"  We'll  land  him  if  we  can  get  near  enough 
to  put  salt  on  his  whiskers,"  was  Wilkins 

gloomy    comment.      "  He's    a    d n    shy 

bird." 

I  told  Wilkins  that  he  simply  must  scrape 
some  kind  of  an  acquaintance  in  order  to  pave 
the  way  for  me.  If  necessary,  I  would  have 
his  berth  shifted  to  the  second  cabin.  He  was 
to  stick  to  the  Full-blooming  Aurora  by  night 
and  day.  The  man  could  not  run  away  on 
shipboard,  and  Wilkins  had  never  failed  me. 
Late  that  night  he  reported  that  the  coveted 
stranger  had  suddenly  and  violently  fallen  in 
love  with  a  pretty  English  girl  in  the  second 
86] 


Episode  of  the  Sentimental  Anarchist 


"  The  coveted  stranger  had  suddenly  and  violently  fallen 
in  love." 

cabin,  and  forsaking  his  eccentric  solitude, 
had  been  in  the  charmer's  company  for 
several  hours.  Wilkins  advanced  the  theory 
that  this  sentimental  attack  might  have  been 
responsible  for  his  singular  actions;  that  while 
talking  to  himself  and  waving  his  arms'  he  had 
been  trying  to  screw  his  courage  up  to  the 

[8? 


.   Archibald  McKackney 


point  of  declaring  his  passion.     Wilkins  had 
not  talked  to  him,  but  explained  : 

"  I  made  a  date  with  the  girl  to  play  shuffle- 
board  in  the  morning.  I  can  make  easier  sail 
ing  with  the  petticoats,  sir." 

Mr.  Hank  Wilkins  of  the  Titian  beard 
had  a  way  with  him  and  at  noon  next  day  he 
was  snugly  tucked  in  a  steamer  chair  by  the 
side  of  the  rosy  English  girl.  He  had  art 
fully  lured  her  to  a  secluded  corner  where 
they  were  screened  from  observation  behind  a 
huge  ventilator.  His  attractive  companion 
seemed  to  welcome  this  isolation,  and  she  was 
frank  enough  to  say  after  listening  to  the  con 
versation  of  the  versatile  Wilkins: 

"  It's  a  relief  to  get  away  from  that  dotty 
person  with  the  blond  fringes,  I'm  sure. 
Fawncy,  he  flopped  down  on  his  knees  to  me 
this  morning,  right  on  deck.  He  almost 
frightens  me." 

Wilkins   gallantly   assured    her   that   this 
kind   of   evidence   would   convince   any  jury 
of   the    Russian's   sanity,   but   she   went   on 
to  say: 
88] 


Episode  of  the  Sentimental  Anarchist 

"  He  talks  very  odd  and  violent  most  of 
the  time.  And  he  keeps  on  hinting  about 
some  awful  disaster  that  is  almost  due  to 
happen." 

Wilkins  expressed  the  fervent  hope  that  the 
disaster  might  not  involve  his  whiskers,  and 
the  girl  became  more  confidential: 

"  When  he  spoke  to  me  lawst  night  I  felt 
like  screamin'.  But  I  didn't  dare  not  to  be 
nice  to  him,  you  know.  He  is  an  anarchist 
by  trade.  He  told  me  so.  Fawncy  me  an 
anarchist's  bride.  And  he  proposed  to  me 
twice  this  morning.  I'm  sure  he  has  some 
thing  dreadful  on  his  mind.  He  passed  me 
to-day  muttering,  '  too  late,  too  late.  My 

God,  I  never  dreamed '  I  missed  the 

rest  of  it,  but  it  was  right  out  of  a  melo 
drama." 

Just  then  the  anarchist  stepped  from  be 
yond  the  ventilator  and  shot  a  murderous 
glance  at  Wilkins  as  he  slouched  past.  Wil 
kins  swore  to  me  that  he  could  hear  the  man's 
teeth  grinding  like  a  coffee  mill  and  that  his 
pockets  were  bulging  with  bombs  destined  to 

[89 


Archibald  McKackney 


be  hurled  at  his  dashing  rival.  When  these 
reports  were  conveyed  to  me  I  perceived  that 
the  demon  of  jealousy  had  stepped  in  to 
thwart  any  plans  that  Wilkins  might  have  for 
capturing  the  Full-blooming  Aurora  trophy. 
I  decided  to  make  the  attempt  on  my  own 
account,  and  deeming  all  weapons  fair  with 
such  a  prize  at  stake,  I  was  ready  to  confess 
myself  a  brother  anarchist  on  the  instant.  At 
the  first  opportunity  I  strolled  aft  with  Wil 
kins.  We  leaned  against  the  rail  within  ear 
shot  of  the  glowering  Russian,  whose  tragic 
pose  was  evidently  intended  to  impress  the 
English  girl.  She  was  playing  deck  quoits 
with  several  passengers  and  her  outlandish 
adorer  had  nothing  better  to  do  than  to  listen 
to  me  as  I  vehemently  addressed  Wilkins  : 

"  Monstrous  !  Criminal  !  The  predatory 
rich,  the  fat-headed  princelings  on  tinsel 
thrones  —  in  short,  all  human  parasites  ought 
to  be  obliterated.  Look  at  that  bloated  group 
of  trust  kings  in  the  smoking  room.  My  dear 
sir,  we  are  their  serfs.  All  government  is  a 
crime.  All  wealth  is  -  " 
90] 


Episode  of  the  Sentimental  Anarchist 

Wilkins  smote  the  rail  with  his  fist  and 
burst  out: 

"  Yes,  siree.  Three  fingers  of  gun-cotton 
with  a  chaser  of  dynamite  'ud  do  the  Kaiser 
a  whole  lot  of  good.  And  as  for  King  Ed 
ward,  somebody  ought  to  jolt  him  clean  off  his 
perch.  And  them  dog-robbin'  trust  barons 
aboard,  why,  for  two  cents  I'd  bump  them  off 
to  glory  myself." 

The  Russian  had  turned  and  was  listening 
to  this  heated  dialogue  with  open  satisfaction. 
Wilkins  found  an  errand  forward,  and  left 
me  to  stare  at  the  sea  in  a  gloomy  reverie, 
while  the  stranger  was  edging  nearer.  After 
a  time  Wilkins  from  afar  off  beheld  us  two 
desperate  characters  addressing  each  other 
with  animated  gestures.  In  this  fashion  I 
became  an  acquaintance  of  the  Russian  and 
learned  that  his  name  was  Pebotsky.  We 
passed  most  of  the  afternoon  together.  I 
accepted  his  invitation  to  dine  with  him  in  the 
second  cabin.  By  this  time  he  was  calling  me 
his  friend. 

In  the  evening  we  sat  in  a  lonely  corner  on 


jf.  Archibald  McKackney 

the  deck,  and  I  had  totally  forgotten  his  whis 
kers,  for  Pebotsky  was  a  maddened  fiend  in 
human  form.  I  dared  not  leave  him  until  his 
tale  was  done.  This  shabby,  wild-eyed  anar 
chist  whom  I  had  laughed  at  from  afar  was 
become  a  hideous  menace,  a  factor  of  life  and 
death.  And  he  had  embraced  me  as  a  com 
rade  !  To  such  awful  depths  had  the  love  of 
art  led  me! 

I  am  sure  that  my  ruddy  cheek  must  have 
become  a  mottled  gray  before  he  was  done 
with  me.  I  know  that  when  I  started  for  my 
room  my  knees  were  trembling  violently  and 
my  breathing  was  no  more  than  a  series  of 
gasps.  We  had  been  talking  for  hours  when 
he  decided  to  make  me  his  confidant.  Heaven 
knows  why  he  did  not  keep  his  infernal 
secret  to  himself.  I  surmised  that  he  was 
almost  insane  from  mental  torture  and  could 
not  hold  in.  I  had  lied  and  perjured  myself 
to  such  an  extent  that  he  had  accepted 
me  as  one  of  the  blood-stained  elect  of  all 
besotted  anarchists.  When  he  asked  me  if 
I  valued  my  life  I  snapped  my  fingers  and 
92] 


Episode  of  the  Sentimental  Anarchist 

told  him  not  a  tinker's  damn,  and  that  I  would 
gladly  be  blown  up  in  sections  if  it  were  in 
company  with  a  crowned  head  or  a  capi 
talist.  In  fact,  I  believe  I  swore  I  was  thirst 
ing  for  just  such  a  chance.  It  was  all  for 
the  sake  of  his  whiskers,  may  Heaven  for 
give  me ! 

To  pass  over  this  painful  recollection  as 
hastily  as  possible,  I  won  the  madman's  im 
plicit  confidence.  It  seems  that  while  ashore 
he  had  got  wind  of  the  intended  sailing  of  Jor 
dan  and  Packard  and  the  other  trust  magnates 
aboard.  As  he  figured  it,  here  was  the  chance 
of  the  age  to  bag  most  of  the  arch-demons  of 
commercial  oppression  at  one  fell  swoop. 
Nothing  like  it  was  likely  ever  to  come  his 
way  again.  He  had  invented  a  most  damna 
bly  clever  infernal  machine,  and  somehow  had 
managed  to  smuggle  two  of  them  into  the 
holds  of  the  ship,  concealed  in  harmless  look 
ing  packages  of  freight. 

Try  to  picture  my  emotions  when  Pebotsky 
calmly  informed  me  that  both  infernal  ma 
chines  were  timed  to  explode  on  the  morrow. 

[93 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


They   would  infallibly  blow   the  Hoch  Der 
Kaiser  into  a  million  pieces. 

Pebotsky's  own  presence  on  board  led  me  to 
think  him  a  colossal  and  picturesque  liar,  but 
he  snatched  this  hope  of  escape  from  me. 
He  protested  that  he  was  not  only  anxious, 
but  eager,  to  become  a  martyr  and  that  the 
removal  of  six  trust  magnates  in  one  operation 
would  be  such  a  glorious  monument  that  it 
would  be  wicked  to  let  the  chance  slip.  Be 
sides  he  wanted  to  see  how  his  infernal 
machines  worked.  The  inconceivable  ass  did 
not  have  an  atom  of  common  sense.  Up  to 
this  period  of  the  voyage  matters  had  been 
running  smoothly  for  Pebotsky.  Then  he  fell 
in  love  with  the  pretty  English  girl,  Miss 
Fletcher,  and  she  knocked  all  his  calculations 
into  a  cocked  hat.  He  absolutely  raved  about 
her  to  me.  He  had  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  she  was  his  soul's  affinity  and  various 
other  volcanic  tommy-rot,  and  therefore  he 
did  not  want  in  the  least  to  blow  her  up  or 
be  blown  up  himself.  He  told  me  that  he  was 
now  willing  to  spare  the  trust  magnates  until 
94] 


Episode  of  the  Sentimental  Anarchist 

they  got  ashore  and  then  his  friends  would 
"  bomb  "  them  one  at  a  time. 

Pebotsky  was  fairly  wild  to  save  the  ship, 
but  he  could  not.  It  was  too  late.  These  two 
infernal  machines  of  his  had  been  stowed  some 
where  at  the  bottom  of  thousands  of  tons  of 
miscellaneous  cargo.  He  wouldn't  know  the 
boxes  if  he  saw  them.  A  friend  of  his  had 
looked  after  shipping  them.  He  was  respon 
sible  only  for  their  confounded  insides.  Even 
if  the  crew  should  be  set  to  work  to  dump 
every  package  of  cargo  into  the  sea  they  could 
not  have  half  of  it  out  of  the  doomed  ship 
in  the  next  twenty-four  hours.  And  the  first 
machine  had  been  timed  to  go  off  at  noon 
sharp.  He  said  that  they  exploded  themselves 
by  means  of  chronometer  attachments. 

I  listened  to  this  awful  narrative  in  speech 
less  horror  while  Pebotsky  raved  and  tore  his 
hair  and  tried  to  think  of  some  way  of  saving 
Miss  Fletcher  and  himself.  I  managed  to 
express  my  surprise  that  he  should  have  been 
SO  ready  to  blow  up  a  thousand  innocent 
souls  to  bag  his  trust  magnates,  but.  Pebotsky 

[95 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


was  as  inconsistent  as  the  average  infatuated 
lover. 

As  soon  as  I  had  left  him  I  determined  to 
seek  the  captain  of  the  ship.  I  was  ready  to 
betray  Pebotsky,  for  it  made  no  difference 
whether  we  all  knew  it  or  not.  I  could  see  no 
way  out  of  the  incredibly  harrowing  situation. 
I  got  as  far  as  Wilkins'  stateroom  and  then 
my  strength  left  me.  I  roused  him  and  tot 
tered  inside  and  collapsed  on  his  divan.  He 
heard  me  out  with  his  unfailing  sang  froid 
and  took  it  upon  himself  to  find  the  captain. 
Wilkins  could  see  no  hope  of  escape  unless 
the  crew  and  passengers  should  be  ordered 
into  the  boats  and  the  ill-fated  liner  aban 
doned  to  her  doom. 

It  required  much  argument  before  the  offi 
cer  on  deck  could  be  persuaded  to  waken  Cap 
tain  Zimmer.  The  commander  of  the  Hoch 
Der  Kaiser  was  short-tempered  and  irritable 
when  he  confronted  Wilkins,  who  stood  by  his 
guns,  however,  until  the  amazing  tale  was 
done. 

"  Send  to  the  second  cabin  and  fetch  me  a 
96] 


Episode  of  the  Sentimental  Anarchist 

passenger  named  Pebotsky,"  the  captain 
roared  through  a  speaking  tube  to  the  officer 
on  the  bridge.  "  If  he  don't  come  put  the 
irons  on  him.  Mein  Gott,  man,  do  you  know 
vat  you  vas  saying  just  now?  I  should  lock 
you  up  as  a  lunatic,  but  I  know  your  boss, 
Herr  McKackney.  I  have  been  at  his  house 
in  America.  He  is  sensible,  only  for  this 
whisker  business  of  his.  So  we  blow  up  twice 
to-morrow?  Once  was  enough." 

When  the  anarchist  was  dragged  into  the 
captain's  cabin  he  brushed  his  rude-fisted 
escort  aside  and  struck  a  heroic  attitude  as  he 
shouted : 

"  Ha,  ha  !  It  is  all  true.  I  am  glad  my  fat 
friend  McKackney  has  betrayed  me.  I  glory 
in  your  anguish.  It  is  I  that  makes  you  suffer. 
It  is  the  last  night  on  earth  for  you  and " 

"  Dot  is  plenty  from  you,  Pebotsky,"  thun 
dered  the  captain.  "  If  you  don't  own  up 
quick  dot  you  vas  a  crazy  liar  I  vill  have  you 
chucked  overboard." 

Thereupon  this  devil  of  a  fellow  fairly 
begged  the  captain  to  throw  him  overboard. 

[97 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


"Struck  a  heroic  attitude  as  he  shouted." 

It  hastened  the  glorious  end  by  only  a  few 
hours,  he  declared,  and  all  he  asked  was  a 
chance  to  say  farewell  to  his  "  soul's  affinity." 
The  skipper  was  nonplussed  and  threatened  to 
keep  Pebotsky  in  irons  and  throw  his  soul's 
affinity  overboard  unless  he  produced  his  hid 
den  infernal  machines.  The  anarchist  flung 
himself  at  the  captain's  feet  and  sobbed  out 
that  if  there  was  any  way  to  save  the  ship  he 
would  do  his  share,  and  explained  that  his  own 
98] 


Episode  of  the  Sentimental  Anarchist 

change  of  heart  had  come  too  late  to  avert  the 
total  destruction  of  the  Hoch  Der  Kaiser. 

Even  that  splendid  old  sea-dog,  Captain 
Zimmer,  was  agitated  and  distraught.  If  he 
should  take  it  for  granted  that  Pebotsky  was 
crazy  and  had  dreamed  his  infernal  machines, 
then  it  was  not  going  to  be  pleasant  waiting 
until  noon  next  day  to  find  out  whether  the  ver 
dict  were  right  or  wrong.  Captain  Zimmer 
ordered  two  seamen  to  lock  Pebotsky  in  the 
ship's  prison,  and  told  Wilkins  that  he  must 
have  time  to  think  things  over.  The  two 
seamen  who  lugged  Pebotsky  from  below  had 
overheard  his  ravings.  They  told  their  com 
rades,  who  in  turn  passed  the  dreadful  secret 
along  to  the  stewards,  and  thence  it  leaked 
among  a  few  of  the  passengers. 

Before  breakfast  next  morning  the  several 
presidents  of  the  most  powerful  American 
trusts  waited  upon  the  captain.  Their  spokes 
man  declared  in  a  shaky  voice  (as  overheard 
by  Wilkins)  : 

"  If  this  ship  is  to  be  blown  up  at  noon  to 
day,  we  are  prepared  to  buy  the  cargo  out- 

[99 


y.   Archibald  McKackney 

right,  provided  it  can  be  thrown  overboard  in 
time." 

Another  of  the  group  exclaimed: 

"  We  have  subscribed  a  purse  of  a  million 
dollars  to  bribe  the  anarchist  to  call  it  off." 

A  third  broke  in  to  say: 

"  And  we  will  buy  the  ship  on  the  spot  and 
give  you  command  of  her.  And  then  we  will 
order  you  to  desert  her  with  the  passengers 
and  crew  as  quick  as  the  Lord  will  let  you." 

Captain  Zimmer  set  his  jaw  hard  and  told 
the  magnates: 

"  It  vas  you  gentlemen  that  started  the  per 
formance.  Why  didn't  you  stay  ashore  before 
you  come  aboard  to  make  this  anarchist  go 
crazy?  Now  your  money  will  buy  you  noth 
ings  from  me.  The  ship  is  being  searched, 
all  suspicious  cargo  hoisted  on  deck,  and  I  can 
do  nothing  more.  It  is  unheard  of,  gentle 
men,  that  a  vessel  in  perfect  order  should  be 
abandoned  at  sea.  My  men  have  been  work 
ing  in  the  holds  since  midnight.  Maybe  your 
jackpots  will  be  raised  through  the  skylight 
at  noon,  eh?  " 
100] 


Episode  of  the  Sentimental  Anarchist 

As  the  morning  wore  on,  the  excitement, 
confusion,  and  painful  suspense  on  deck  baffled 
description.  The  captain  of  the  Hoch  Der 
Kaiser  had  no  more  time  for  his  passengers. 
His  crew  was  on  the  edge  of  a  panic-stricken 
mutiny,  and  the  officers  were  ordered  to  shoot 
the  first  deserter  from  his  post.  Men  and 
women  fought  their  way  to  the  captain's  deck 
to  plead  that  he  take  to  the  life-boats.  Pebot- 
sky  had  been  released  and  was  in  the  hold  in 
charge  of  a  squad  of  seamen,  his  ears  strained 
to  detect  the  tell-tale  clicking  of  hidden  clock 
work. 

I  had  made  my  will  before  sailing,  be 
queathing  the  McKackney  Whisker  Collec 
tion  to  the  American  Society  for  the  Promo 
tion  of  Curious  Science.  Other  passengers 
with  less  forethought  were  flocking  around  a 
lawyer  in  the  dining  saloon  who  was  rapidly 
writing  wills  and  sealing  them  up  in  bottles 
to  be  tossed  overboard  at  the  last  moment. 

As  the  time  crept  nearer  and  nearer  noon, 
the  grimy  men  from  the  engine  and  fire  rooms 
began  to  pour  on  deck.  They  could  not  be 

[101 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


kept  under,  and  it  was  all  the  officers  could 
do  to  head  off  their  rush  for  the  boats.  The 
jarring  thud  of  the  screws  ceased.  The  Hoch 
Der  Kaiser  rolled  idly  on  the  long  swell  as 
if  waiting  for  the  unspeakable  moment. 

Exactly  on  the  stroke  of  noon  the  huge  ves 
sel  shivered  from  stem  to  stern  as  if  she  had 
run  on  a  reef.  There  was  a  dull,  muffled  sound 
from  somewhere  under  the  forward  hatch,  and 
the  air  was  filled  with  flying  fragments  of  tim 
ber  and  shattered  cargo.  An  instant  later  it 
seemed  to  rain  cans  of  corned  beef,  tongue 
and  deviled  ham.  Then  followed  a  torrent 
of  potatoes,  showers  of  them,  hurled  aloft 
with  their  splintered  barrels,  and  in  their 
descent  fairly  bombarding  the  fear-stricken 
and  cowering  passengers.  I  was  struck  on  the 
head  by  a  juicy  missile  and  sent  reeling  to 
the  deck,  and  as  in  a  dream  I  heard  Hank 
Wilkins  observe  with  his  customary  hearti 
ness: 

"  It's  what  you  might  call  an  earthquake 
accompanied  by  violent  showers  of  corn-beef 
hash." 

102] 


"It  seemed  to  rain  cans  of  corned  beef,  tongue  and 
deviled  ham." 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


He  assisted  me  forward  where  we  peered 
down  the  devastated  hatchway.  A  squad  of 
seamen  was  already  hurrying  into  the  hold 
with  lines  of  hose,  the  captain  at  their  head. 
Before  long  he  sent  the  first  officer  to  report 
that  no  lives  had  been  lost.  A  hole  was  blown 
in  the  ship's  bottom,  but  her  bulkheads  were 
still  intact,  and  there  was  no  danger  of  her 
sinking.  The  force  of  the  explosion  had  been 
broken  by  a  thousand  barrels  of  potatoes  and 
several  hundred  tons  of  canned  meats  that 
must  have  been  piled  on  top  of  the  first  infer 
nal  machine.  The  joyful  passengers  flocked 
about  the  trust  magnates,  and  cheered  as  they 
singled  out  the  respective  presidents  of  the 
beef  and  potato  monopolies. 

"  You  have  saved  our  lives,"  they  chorused. 
"  Hurrah  for  the  trusts." 

Pebotsky  was  led  past  them  just  then,  a 
sailor  clutching  him  by  the  ear.  An  expres 
sion  of  poignant  anguish  convulsed  the  pallid 
features  of  the  anarchist.  I  heard  him  hiss 
between  his  teeth  : 

"  I  would  destroy  these  monsters  of  capital, 
104] 


Episode  of  the  Sentimental  Anarchist 

and  I  have  made  heroes  of  them.  Now  I  wish 
to  die.  But  there  will  be  yet  another  explo 
sion — in  one  hour." 

This  escape  from  destruction  had  put  new 
heart  into  the  ship's  company.  With  furious 
exertion  they  toiled  in  the  afterholds,  risking 
their  lives  like  men  with  the  hangman's  rope 
around  their  necks.  Fifteen  minutes  before 
the  second  explosion  was  scheduled  to  occur, 
a  hoarse  cheer  rose  from  the  open  hatch  abaft 
the  first-class  smoking  room.  It  was  lustily 
echoed  on  deck.  Strong  men,  and  men  not 
so  strong,  burst  into  tears  and  were  un 
ashamed.  Women  were  hysterical  with  joy 
and  embraced  utter  strangers.  Little  chil 
dren  scampered  to  and  fro  with  shrill  and 
gladsome  shouts.  No  one  waited  for  a 
report  from  below.  This  roar  of  exultation 
could  mean  nothing  less  than  the  discovery  of 
the  second  infernal  machine. 

A  few  minutes  later,  while  all  hands  waited 
with  incredibly  painful  emotions,  a  cargo 
boom  slowly  hoisted  from  the  depth  of  the 
hold  a  heavy  packing-case  hastily  wrapped 

[105 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


and  cushioned  with  pieces  of  burlap.  It 
swayed  skyward,  and  then  swung  to  and  fro 
and  refused  to  budge.  The  wire  cables  had 
somehow  jammed  in  their  sheaves. 

Groans  burst  from  the  paling  lips  of  those 
who  stood  and  watched  the  dreadful  menace 
suspended  above  the  deck.  The  donkey  en 
gine  puffed  and  strained.  The  taut  cables 
twanged  like  huge  bow-strings,  but  in  vain. 
Brave  seamen  ran  up  the  mast  and  boom  like 
monkeys  and  madly  strove  to  release  the 
tackle. 

There  was  no  hoisting  or  lowering  the 
packing-case.  The  seamen  dared  not  cut  away 
the  fastenings.  It  seemed  impossible  to  avert 
a  disaster  as  unlocked  for  as  it  was  imminent. 
The  frenzied  onlookers  fancied  they  could 
hear  the  inexorable  ticking  of  the  mechanism 
in  the  packing-case.  Men  stood  as  if  rooted 
in  their  tracks,  fascinated,  hypnotized  with 
horror.  Several  held  their  watches  and  shud 
dered  as  they  saw  the  minute  hands  steal  past 
six,  five,  four,  three,  minutes  of  the  hour. 

Then  the  ropes  began  slowly  to  slip  through 
106] 


Episode  of  the  Sentimental  Anarchist 

the  sheaves.  Inch  by  inch  the  infernal 
machine  descended  toward  the  vessel's  rail. 
Twenty  men  rushed  to  be  ready  to  cast  it 
loose.  As  it  swung  within  a  few  feet  of  the 
deck,  a  slender,  slouching  man  broke  away 
from  his  captors  with  a  shrill  cry.  Before 
they  could  overtake  him  he  had  reached  the 
side  of  the  deck,  and  leaped  upon  the  rail  with 
arms  outstretched  toward  the  swaying  pack 
ing-case.  The  singular  abundance  of  his 
golden  whiskers  partly  hid  the  expression  of 
his  face,  but  those  who  were  nearest  him 
said  that  he  was  weeping.  The  laboring  sea 
men  were  absorbed  in  a  frenzy  of  haste.  They 
paid  no  heed  to  this  strange  figure  on  the  rail. 
With  a  mighty  heave  they  pushed  the  packing- 
case  clear  of  the  vessel's  side. 

I  sprang  forward,  forgetting  my  own  peril, 
for  the  anarchist  was  waving  farewell  to  the 
pretty  English  girl  with  a  gesture  of  tragic 
despair.  I  was  bent  upon  saving  the  Full- 
blooming  Aurora  from  the  sea.  But  as  the 
infernal  machine  surged  from  its  fastenings, 
the  Sentimental  Anarchist  leaped  forward  and 

[107 


.   Archibald  McKackney 


plunged  headlong,  so  nearly  in  company  with 
his  diabolical  device  that  they  made  but  one 
splash. 

I  glanced  at  my  watch.  It  was  one  o'clock 
to  the  second.  A  huge  column  of  water  shot 
from  the  surface  of  the  ocean  and  fell  back 
in  jeweled  cascades.  A  subdued  roar  came 
from  the  depths  and  the  steamer  trembled. 
As  if  to  testify  to  the  genius  of  its  creator, 
the  second  infernal  machine  had  exploded  pre 
cisely  at  the  time  appointed. 

I  was  filled  with  the  most  profound  grati 
tude  and  thanksgiving  for  our  merciful  pres 
ervation.  But  as  I  stared  over  the  side  and 
viewed  the  foaming  whirlpool  into  which 
Pebotsky  had  vanished,  I  felt  that  there  was 
one  bitter  drop  in  my  cup.  His  whiskers  had 
perished  with  him  and  I  mourned  the  loss  of 
the  noblest  specimen  of  the  Full-blooming 
Aurora  pattern  that  in  all  probability  existed 
on  earth. 

While  I  tried  to  console  myself  with  the 
reflection  that  there  is  no  joy  without  some 
sorrow,  the  gusty  wind  wafted  a  bit  of  some- 
108] 


Episode  of  the  Sentimental  Anarchist 

thing  like  gossamer  from  the  upper  air  and 
left  it  on  the  deck  at  my  feet.  I  picked  it  up. 
It  was  a  tiny  strand  of  golden  hair,  a  frag 
ment  of  the  peerless  whiskers  of  the  late 
Pebotsky.  Almost  reverently  I  placed  the 
souvenir  in  my  notebook.  It  was  all  that 
remained  of  the  Sentimental  Anarchist. 


[109 


THE   TALE   OF 
THE   WANDERING   BOOK-CASE 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   TALE   OF   THE   WANDERING 
BOOK-CASE 

(As  Told  in  the  Smoking  Room  of  the  Hoch 
Der  Kaiser  on  the  Last  Night  at  Sea.) 

AT  one  time  I  was  keenly  interested  in 
collecting,  as  a  sort  of  side  issue,  locks 
or  clippings  from  the  whiskers  of  famous  men. 
It  was  a  pursuit  which  I  later  forsook  in  favor 
of  my  more  valuable  and  elaborate  collections 
of  whisker  portraits,  but  in  the  course  of 
several  years  I  had  acquired  fragments  of  the 
beards  or  whiskers  of  nearly  every  man  of 
national  importance  at  home  and  abroad. 
Some  were  given  me  by  their  owners,  others 
were  obtained  by  bribing  their  barbers,  while 
a  few  came  to  me  by  means  not  so  scrupulous. 
I  was  unhappy,  however,  because  my  collec 
tion  lacked  a  souvenir  snipped  from  the  royal 


J.  Archibald  McKackney 

adornment  of  a  certain  illustrious  ruler  of  a 
European  state  whose  name  I  must  withhold. 
Suffice  it  to  say  that  he  was  generally  acknowl 
edged  to  wear  one  of  the  most  magnificent 
beards  in  Christendom.  Diplomacy  and  in 
trigue  had  failed  me  and  I  had  about  given 
up  this  specimen  as  hopeless. 

While  traveling  on  the  Continent  I  was  one 
day  filled  with  excitement  to  behold  this  illus 
trious  sovereign  enter  a  first-class  railway  car 
riage  in  my  own  train.  He  was  accompanied 
by  a  military  officer  of  high  rank,  and  I 
guessed  that  he  was  making  a  journey  incog. 
I  could  not  help  fingering  a  pair  of  folding 
scissors  in  my  waistcoat  pocket,  but  of  course 
I  was  not  mad  enough  to  attempt  an  open 
assault  upon  the  coveted  trophy. 

Presently  the  train  pulled  out  from  the 
station  and  there  I  sat  with  only  the  walls  of 
a  compartment  carriage  between  me  and  the 
prize  that  I  would  have  given  a  handsome 
fortune  to  possess.  I  racked  my  brains  to 
devise  some  scheme  for  making  the  acquain 
tance  of  His  Majesty,  but  my  mission  was 
114] 


The   Tale  of  the  Wandering  Book-Case 

so  delicate  and  even  insulting  that  I  could 
only  writhe  in  baffled  helplessness. 

At  length  the  train  halted  at  a  wayside 
station  and  there  seemed  to  be  some  trouble 
on  the  tracks  ahead.  I  summoned  the  guard 
to  unlock  my  door,  and  stepped  on  the  plat 
form  to  stretch  my  legs.  A  minute  or  so  later 
I  saw  the  illustrious  potentate  impatiently 
throw  up  his  window  and  poke  his  head  out 
to  glare  to  and  fro  as  if  seeking  the  cause  of 
our  detention.  His  noble  beard  fell  outside 
in  a  torrent  and  waggled  in  an  imposing  man 
ner.  While  I  was  staring  at  it  with  envious 
eyes,  the  guard  signaled  the  order  to  go  ahead. 
I  was  about  to  hurry  into  my  compartment 
when  a  startling  outcry  arose  from  the  ad 
joining  carriage.  I  turned  and  beheld  a  truly 
amazing  spectacle.  While  his  majesty  was 
withdrawing  his  head  from  the  open  window 
the  sash  had  dropped  with  great  force.  The 
end  of  his  beard  was  caught  and  held  as  in 
a  vise  and  almost  a  foot  of  it  hung  over  the 
window-sill  outside. 

The    helpless    prisoner    was    roaring    for 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


assistance  and  beating  the  glass  with  his  fists. 
I  saw  the  chance  of  a  lifetime.  The  train  was 
in  motion,  and  swinging  myself  on  the  foot 
board,  I  whisked  out  my  scissors,  and  with 
a  lightning  sweep  of  the  arm,  snipped  a  gener 
ous  handful  from  the  end  of  the  captive  beard. 
It  was  hideous  lese  majestic,  but  my  ardor 
reckoned  not  with  consequences.  Never  shall 
I  forget  the  murderous  wrath  that  flamed  in 
the  countenance  of  my  august  prey  as  he 
gnashed  his  teeth  at  me  through  the  window 
pane. 

It  was  all  over  in  a  second  or  two.  I  knew 
that  the  king's  companion  would  stop  the  train 
if  his  release  were  not  instantly  effected.  Tuck 
ing  my  trophy  in  an  inside  pocket  I  abandoned 
my  luggage  and  ran  swiftly  across  the  plat 
form,  through  the  station,  and  into  the  traffic- 
crowded  street.  Leaping  into  an  empty  cab 
I  threw  a  gold  piece  at  the  driver,  ordered  him 
to  drive  like  the  devil  for  nowhere  in  particu 
lar,  and  was  borne  swiftly  away  from  the 
scene  of  my  remarkable  achievement. 

I  shall  pass  over  the  incidents  of  my  flight 
116] 


"Snipped  a  generous  handful  from  the  end  of  the  captive 
beard." 


.   Archibald  McKackney 


and  escape.  Thanks  to  a  lavish  use  of  money 
and  a  frequent  change  of  disguise  I  succeeded 
in  passing  the  frontier,  and  within  three  days 
was  crossing  the  English  Channel.  The  Euro 
pean  newspapers  were  ringing  with  garbled 
reports  of  the  assault  of  an  anarchist  or  luna 
tic  upon  the  person  of  a  certain  illustrious 
ruler,  but  none  of  them  connected  the  das 
tardly  incident  with  the  American  tourist,  J. 
Archibald  McKackney. 

At  that  time  there  was  a  keen  rivalry  in 
this  field  of  collecting  between  a  New  York 
man  named  Pillsover  and  myself.  He  was, 
in  fact,  no  more  than  an  imitator,  and  had 
begun  to  seek  the  whiskers  of  celebrities 
through  hearing  of  my  success.  He  was  a 
friend  of  mine,  in  a  way,  and  I  had  often 
entertained  him  at  my  New  England  country 
place.  After  my  return  from  abroad  I  asked 
him  down  to  view  the  trophy  shorn  from  the 
chin  of  the  European  ruler  in  the  manner 
already  described.  He  tried  to  conceal  his 
consuming  envy,  but  I  could  see  that  he  was 
wretchedly  unhappy.  His  two  most  notable 
118] 


The   Tale  of  the  Wandering  Book-Case 

captures  were  totally  eclipsed.  One  of  them 
had  been  purchased  from  the  barber  of  a  petty 
Hapsburg  prince,  and  the  other  begged  from 
an  American  cabinet  minister. 

We  spent  the  evening  among  my  collections 
in  the  library  and  when  we  were  ready  to  go 
upstairs,  I  went  to  replace  the  priceless  trophy 
in  my  fireproof  vault.  The  steel  doors  had 
been  closed  by  my  secretary,  however,  who 
took  it  for  granted  that  I  had  finished  my 
business  with  it.  The  time  lock  had  been  set 
to  open  next  morning,  so  that  I  was  barred 
out. 

I  had  been  examining  a  volume  of  a  costly 
edition  of  a  standard  author,  and  one  of  the 
books  lay  open  on  the  library  table.  Without 
more  ado  I  tucked  the  parchment  envelope 
containing  the  royal  strands  of  whiskers  be 
tween  the  leaves  of  this  book  which  I  restored 
to  its  case,  intending  to  look  after  it  in  the 
morning. 

My  friend,  and  rival,  Pillsover,  was  com 
pelled  to  take  the  midnight  train  to  the  city 
and  we  parted  on  the  best  of  terms.  Little 

[119 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


did  I  dream  that  when  next  we  met  it  would  be 
as  implacable  enemies. 

Early  in  the  morning  I  was  aroused  by  a 
telegram  demanding  my  immediate  presence 
in  Boston  on  a  matter  of  large  financial  im 
portance.  The  news  was  so  disturbing  that  the 
recollection  of  the  trophy  hidden  in  the  book 
case  was  wholly  driven  from  my  thoughts.  In 
fact  I  did  not  recall  it  until  my  return  late 
in  the  afternoon  of  the  following  day.  Then 
I  hastened  to  the  library,  withdrew  the  volume 
which  I  had  been  reading  two  nights  before, 
and  searched  it  with  some  small  excitement. 

No  one  but  a  collector  can  imagine  my  emo 
tions  when  I  discovered  that  the  parchment 
envelope  was  missing.  I  ran  through  every 
one  of  the  thirty  odd  volumes  with  furious 
haste.  Tearing  my  hair  and  fairly  breathless 
I  summoned  my  secretary.  His  tidings  added 
fresh  fuel  to  my  wrath  and  consternation.  I 
should  explain  that  this  subscription  edition 
of  books,  with  their  handsomely  carved  case, 
had  been  shipped  to  me  on  approval. 
Through  a  blunder  of  the  publisher  a  binding 
120] 


The   Tale  of  the  Wandering  Book-Case 

slightly  different  from  the  style  selected  by  me 
had  been  sent.  I  had  noticed  the  error  and 
intended  to  write  about  it  at  my  leisure. 

In  the  meantime,  however,  the  publisher 
had  discovered  the  mistake,  and  during  my 
absence  in  Boston  he  had  sent  an  agent  to 
my  house  with  the  other  set  of  books  to 
replace  those  already  in  my  possession.  My 
secretary  explained  to  me  that  the  agent  had 
taken  the  wrong  edition  back  to  New  York 
with  him,  and  placed  the  new  set  of  books  in 
their  case  in  my  library.  Knowing  that  I 
desired  to  have  this  change  made,  my  secre 
tary  had  made  no  objections.  I  am  afraid  that 
my  language  was  shocking,  but  the  provoca 
tion  was  immense.  Here  was  my  parchment 
envelope,  containing  the  gem  of  my  hirsute 
collection,  whisked  off  to  Heaven  knew  where, 
by  a  misguided  wretch  of  a  book  agent. 

When  I  became  calmer  I  asked  if  anything 
else  had  happened  during  my  unlucky  absence. 
I  was  informed  that  Pillsover  had  called  on 
the  previous  day,  just  as  the  publisher's  agent 
was  driving  away  with  the  first  or  wrong  set 

[121 


J.  Archibald  McKackney 

of  books.  He  had  recognized  the  agent  as  a 
salesman  from  Vellum  &  Co.,  and  had  shown 
considerable  curiosity  concerning  his  errand. 

"  I  explained  the  circumstances,"  confessed 
my  secretary,  "  and  Mr.  Pillsover  asked  me  if 
you  knew  of  the  transfer  of  books.  I  told  him 
that  you  had  to  go  to  Boston  without  a  chance 
to  attend  to  any  business  at  home.  Then  he 
wanted  to  know  whether  you  had  left  me  any 
special  instructions  about  the  collections.  I 
told  him  I  had  not  seen  you  that  morning. 
Then  he  spent  some  little  time  in  the  library, 
made  some  inquiries  about  the  time  lock  of  the 
vault,  and  said  he  was  thinking  of  getting  one 
like  it." 

A  few  more  questions  and  I  had  fathomed 
the  purpose  of  the  conscienceless  Pillsover. 
He  had  returned  to  try  to  secure,  by  trade  or 
purchase,  the  Sovereign's  Whisker.  A  col 
lector  myself,  I  could  imagine  him  as  passing 
a  restless  night  tortured  with  the  desire  to 
win  from  me  my  prize.  He  knew  where  I 
had  stowed  the  trophy  overnight,  and  he  was 
able  to  make  a  shrewd  guess  that  it  still 
122] 


The   Tale  of  the  Wandering  Book-Case 

reposed  in  the  book.  As  soon  as  I  had  pumped 
my  secretary  dry,  my  surmise  amounted  to  a 
conviction  that,  unknown  to  me,  the  book 
along  with  its  fellows  had  been  carted  away 
to  the  publisher  and  that  Pillsover  had  fol 
lowed  its  trail  in  hot  haste. 

I  perceived  at  once  that  if  Pillsover  could 
overtake  the  book-case,  he  would  abstract  the 
parchment  envelope,  and  that  I  should  not  be 
able  to  prove  his  guilt.  In  fact,  there  would 
be  no  way  of  bringing  home  the  theft  to  any 
body.  Pillsover  had  obtained  the  start  over 
me,  but  I  instantly  called  up  the  New  York 
office  of  Vellum  &  Co.  on  the  long  distance 
'phone  and  ordered  them  to  hold  the  returned 
set  of  books  until  I  could  make  a  personal 
examination  of  them. 

Their  reply  pained  me  beyond  words.  The 
books  had  been  received,  but  there  happened 
to  be  so  many  orders  on  file  for  this  particular 
edition  that  they  had  been  reshipped  by  ex 
press  within  an  hour  of  their  arrival.  I 
demanded  the  address  of  the  consignee,  and 
was  told  that  four  sets  of  this  edition  had  been 

[123 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


sent  out  in  the  afternoon  and  that  it  was  im 
possible  to  tell  which  of  the  four  had  been 
returned  by  me.  Here  was  the  very  deuce  to 
pay.  I  insisted  upon  having  the  four  addresses 
of  the  consignees.  They  were  scattered  from 
Skowhegan,  Maine,  to  Richmond,  Virginia. 
The  publisher  tried  to  console  me  over  the 
'phone  by  adding: 

"  Your  friend,  Mr.  Pillsover,  called  this 
afternoon  and  tried  to  catch  the  books  you 
speak  of.  He  seemed  quite  excited  when  I 
explained  the  circumstances  of  their  reship- 
ment.  He  made  me  give  him  the  addresses 
of  the  four  consignees,  so  we  took  it  for 
granted  that  he  was  acting  in  your  behalf." 

In  my  mind's  eye  I  could  see  Pillsover  start 
ing  hot-footed  to  run  down  the  four  sets  of 
books  one  by  one,  even  waiting  for  their 
arrival  at  the  homes  of  their  purchasers.  It 
was  a  desperate  gamble,  with  odds  of  three  to 
one  against  him,  but  the  stake  was  worth  it. 
There  was  nothing  for  me  to  do  but  to  pursue 
the  same  tactics,  to  chase  the  wandering  book 
cases  over  the  face  of  the  earth  until  I  had 
124] 


The   Tale  of  the  Wandering  Book-Case 

found  the  right  one  and  pray  that  I  might 
overtake  it  ahead  of  Pillsover. 

It  was  a  most  formidable  task  that  lay  be 
fore  me.  I  shrewdly  guessed  that  Pillsover 
would  hurry  to  one  of  the  farthest  points  of 
the  circuit  in  the  hope  of  throwing  me  off  the 
scent.  I  therefore  set  out  post-haste  for  Skow- 
hegan,  in  the  first  stage  of  the  spectacular  race 
for  the  King's  Whisker.  There  I  learned  that 
my  rival  had  reached  town  ahead  of  me. 
The  gentleman  who  was  expecting  the  box  of 
books  told  me  that  they  had  not  yet  arrived, 
but  that  a  man  calling  himself  an  agent  of 
Vellum  &  Co.  had  been  anxiously  inquiring 
after  them. 

It  seemed  that  the  miserable  fellow  Pills- 
over,  wishing  to  hide  his  identity,  had  clapped 
on  a  false  beard  and  was  passing  himself  off 
as  an  agent  with  books  to  sell.  He  had  been 
making  a  pretense  of  a  house-to-house  canvass, 
so  I  was  told.  If  Pillsover  intended  resorting 
to  such  despicable  dodges  as  this  to  hide  his 
perfidy,  I  would  fight  him  with  his  own  weap 
ons.  Consulting  a  Skowhegan  lawyer  I  was 

[125 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


pleased  to  learn  that  there  was  a  town  ordi 
nance  forbidding  all  kinds  of  agents  to  vend  or 
peddle  without  paying  a  tax  and  securing  a 
license.  The  authorities  were  promptly  in 
formed  of  Pillsover's  lawless  operations,  and 
he  was  arrested  and  thrown  into  jail  over 
night.  The  constable  caught  him  red-handed 
on  a  doorstep  with  a  sample  book  in  his  hands 
so  that  I  did  not  have  to  appear  in  the  pro 
ceedings.  I  waited  until  the  box  of  books 
arrived,  was  permitted  to  examine  them,  and 
found  no  missing  whisker.  Leaving  Pillsover 
to  cool  his  heels  in  the  calaboose  I  headed  for 
Burlington,  Vermont,  to  seek  the  second  book 
case  on  my  list. 

I  was  delayed  by  missing  my  connections, 
and  Pillsover,  who  was  fined  and  released 
next  morning,  must  have  taken  another  and 
swifter  route.  At  Burlington  I  found  that 
the  second  consignee,  Jonas  Harding,  was  an 
eccentric  old  codger  who  lived  six  miles  out 
in  the  country.  I  chartered  a  livery  rig  and 
sought  his  home  with  the  greatest  possible 
expedition.  About  half  the  distance  had  been 
126] 


The   Tale  of  the  Wandering  Book-Case 

covered  when  the  clatter  of  wheels  made  me 
look  behind.  A  buggy  was  fairly  careening 
down  the  long  hill,  the  horse  at  a  gallop. 
Leaning  far  over  the  dashboard  and  plying  a 
whip  was  none  other  than  Pillsover,  red  in 
the  face,  shouting  like  a  madman.  I  give  you 
my  word  I  hardly  knew  the  man.  He  had 
thrown  prudence  and  self-respect  to  the  winds. 
He  had  forsaken  his  ambush.  The  capture  of 
the  Royal  Whisker  had  already  obsessed  him. 
Apparently  he  had  no  thought  for  the  future. 
The  lust  of  the  chase  had  so  gripped  him  that 
he  was  ready  to  fight  for  the  prize.  I  myself 
had  become  keyed  up  to  such  a  desperate  state 
of  mind  that  I  could  scarcely  blame  him. 

When  he  recognized  me  he  uttered  a  yell 
that  curdled  my  blood,  and  urged  his  poor 
beast  with  more  fury  than  before.  I  drew  my 
whip  and  slashed  my  willing  steed.  I  could  not 
let  Pillsover  beat  me  to  the  second  book-case. 
It  was  a  break-neck  race  of  almost  three  miles 
over  a  rock-strewn  country  road,  up  hill  and 
down.  I  could  only  pray  that  my  rig  would 
hold  together,  as  we  bounded  and  caromed 

[127 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


along  side  by  side,  or  within  two  or  three 
lengths  of  each  other. 

Half  a  mile  from  the  finish  Pillsover  began 
to  draw  ahead.  He  had  the  better  horse,  and 
when  he  saw  that  I  could  not  overtake  him  he 
cast  a  look  at  me  over  his  shoulder  that  was 
positively  fiendish.  I  had  to  watch  him  whirl 
into  Mr.  Jonas  Harding's  yard  door  in  a 
cloud  of  dust,  a  good  hundred  yards  ahead  of 
me.  When  I  leaped  from  my  buggy  he  had 
vanished  through  the  front  door.  As  I  ran 
after  him  an  old  man  bolted  into  my  arms 
yelling,  "  Fire,  thieves,  burglars  1  Help  ! 
There's  one  of  'em  in  the  parlor  and  here's 
another  a-helling  after  him." 

I  shouted  reassurances  in  the  old  man's  ear, 
but  he  brushed  me  aside,  caught  up  a  wooden 
bottomed  chair,  and  would  have  brained  me 
on  the  spot  had  I  not  dodged  through  the 
parlor  door.  I  had  time  to  glimpse  Pillsover 
in  the  act  of  yanking  books  from  a  case  by  the 
armful.  Then  the  wooden-bottomed  chair 
caught  me  in  the  small  of  the  back  and  I 
sprawled  headlong  on  top  of  Pillsover.  As  I 
128] 


•a 

a 


1 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


tried  to  scramble  to  my  knees  my  hand  fell 
upon  volume  fifteen.  The  gilded  lettering 
gleamed  like  fire.  In  a  flash  I  recognized  it 
as  the  book  I  sought.  Tucking  it  under  my 
arm  I  made  one  spring  for  the  nearest  open 
window.  Not  even  my  coat-tails  touched  as  I 
flew  through  it  like  a  bird.  Climbing  into  my 
buggy  I  drove  pell-mell  toward  Burlington, 
and  as  the  vehicle  spun  into  the  highway  on 
one  wheel  I  heard  the  sounds  of  battle  raging 
in  Mr.  Jonas  Harding's  parlor. 

While  I  steered  my  galloping  steed  with 
one  hand  I  opened  the  book  between  my  knees. 
Alas,  my  gallant  struggle  had  been  in  vain. 
The  royal  whisker  was  still  missing.  I  was 
reasonably  sure  that  Pillsover  had  not  exam 
ined  this  book  when  I  fell  upon  it,  and  there 
fore  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  hasten  in 
pursuit  of  the  third  book-case. 

Pillsover  was  covering  ground  with  fairly 
infernal  energy,  I  will  say  that  much  for  him. 
In  fact  I  was  in  the  library  of  the  third  con 
signee,  in  Harrisburg,  when  I  saw  him  dash 
up  the  front  steps.  My  host  had  promised 
130] 


The   Tale  of  the  Wandering  Book-Case 

to  say  nothing  of  my  visit,  as  I  wished  to  con 
fuse  my  rival  as  much  as  possible.  Therefore 
I  slipped  behind  a  portiere  as  Pillsover  was 
ushered  into  the  room  by  a  servant.  He  was 
left  alone  for  a  few  minutes,  and  I  had  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  him  tiptoe  to  a  corner  of 
the  library  and  fumble  with  the  glass  door 
of  the  Vellum  &  Co.  book-case.  He  was  in 
such  clumsy  haste  to  get  at  the  books  that  he 
tugged  too  hard  at  the  catch.  The  case  had 
not  been  solidly  placed.  It  toppled  and  fell 
over  on  Pillsover  with  a  terrific  crash,  and 
several  plaster  statuettes  smote  him  on  the 
head  with  great  force.  I  paused  only  long 
enough  to  view  him  prostrate  with  a  large  bust 
of  Dante  resting  on  the  back  of  his  neck. 
Then  I  fled  to  catch  a  train  for  Richmond. 

By  a  most  arduous  process  of  elimination 
I  had  been  able  to  determine  beyond  a  shadow 
of  doubt  that  the  parchment  envelope  was  in 
volume  fifteen  of  the  fourth  consignment 
which  had  been  shipped  to  Micah  P.  Rogers 
of  Richmond.  I  found  him  without  difficulty, 
and  Pillsover  had  not  yet  appeared  on  this 


.   Archibald  McKackney 


horizon.  Neither  had  the  book-case.  It 
seems  that  after  waiting  for  a  reasonable 
period,  Mr.  Rogers  had  notified  the  express 
company.  The  local  agent  was  unable  to  find 
any  traces  of  the  missing  box  of  goods.  More 
investigation  convinced  the  parties  interested 
that  it  had  somehow  gone  astray  between  New 
York  and  Richmond.  Every  effort  was  being 
made  to  locate  the  missing  package,  and  I  had 
no  other  course  than  to  confide  in  Mr.  Rogers 
and  ask  him  to  forward  the  precious  docu 
ment  to  my  home  as  soon  as  the  shipment 
should  reach  him.  I  was  very  nervous  and 
apprehensive  that  the  pestiferous  Pillsover 
might  find  a  way  to  get  his  hands  on  it,  but  I 
was  worn  out  with  traveling  night  and  day, 
and  there  might  be  weeks  of  futile  waiting. 
Wearied  and  disappointed  I  started  to  re 
turn  to  New  York.  My  train  was  not  more 
than  an  hour  beyond  Richmond  when  it  was 
blocked  by  a  wreck.  A  brakeman  informed 
me  that  the  tracks  could  not  be  cleared  for 
several  hours.  Therefore  I  walked  ahead  to 
watch  the  wrecking  crews  at  work.  A  number 
132] 


The   Tale  of  the  Wandering  Book-Case 

of  cars  of  merchandise  were  strewn  about  in 
frightful  confusion.  Fire  had  broken  out 
among  the  splintered  express  cars  and  their 
contents,  and  the  train  crews  were  fighting  it 
with  bucket  brigades. 

Another  passenger  train  coming  in  the  op 
posite  direction  from  mine  was  standing  on 
the  other  side  of  the  blockade.  Its  people 
were  also  walking  along  the  track  to  view  the 
interesting  scene  at  close  range.  Foremost 
among  them  I  recognized  Pillsover,  evidently 
bound  for  Richmond.  His  head  was  ban 
daged  and  a  strip  of  plaster  gleamed  athwart 
his  nose.  As  I  drew  nearer  the  one  side  of 
the  blazing  wreckage,  he  approached  closer 
to  the  other  until  we  were  glaring  across  the 
smoking  barrier  perhaps  a  hundred  feet  apart. 
He  could  see  that  I  was  a  passenger  on  the 
train  that  had  left  Richmond  earlier  in  the 
day,  and  he  was  forced  to  conclude,  of  course, 
that  the  parchment  envelope  and  the  Royal 
Whisker  were  in  my  pocket.  His  emotions 
must  have  been  tormenting  in  the  extreme,  for 
several  times  he  shook  his  fist  at  me.  I 

[133 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


assumed  as  triumphant  an  expression  as  possi 
ble,  and  stared  at  him  with  haughty  contempt. 

The  wind  shifting,  I  was  able  to  walk 
nearer  the  wreck,  and  presently  my  eye  was 
drawn  to  a  smashed  packing-case  that  had 
been  tossed  down  the  embankment  to  the  edge 
of  the  burning  area.  Where  the  planking  had 
been  ripped  away  I  thought  I  saw  several 
dark-green  books  protruding.  Moving  closer 
I  noticed  that  more  books  lay  scattered  about 
on  the  grass  and  among  the  lumber  just  be 
yond. 

My  curiosity  was  aroused.  I  ran  down  the 
slope  as  near  the  wreck  as  the  frightful  heat 
would  permit.  When  a  dozen  feet  away  I 
felt  almost  certain  that  these  were  books  of 
the  same  edition  which  I  sought.  If  so,  they 
must  be  billed  to  Richmond.  The  chance  of 
their  being  the  Rogers  shipment  was  over 
whelming. 

While  I  stood  gazing  at  them,  trying  to 
shield  my  face  with  my  coat,  a  yell  rose  from 
beyond  the  wreck.  Pillsover  had  made  the 
same  discovery  and  jumped  at  the  same  con- 
134] 


The   Tale  of  the   Wandering  Book-Case 


The  wretch  was  crawling  toward  the  box  on  hands  and 
knees." 


elusion.  I  must  act  on  the  instant  or  not  at 
all.  The  wretch  was  crawling  toward  the 
box  on  hands  and  knees,  coughing  and  choking 
for  breath.  I  pulled  my  coat  over  my  head 

[135 


J.  Archibald  McKackney 

and  tried  to  fight  my  way  along  the  embank 
ment.  The  gusty  wind  veered  suddenly  and 
drove  a  deadly  sheet  of  flame  between  me  and 
the  box.  Driven  back  I  watched  the  greedy 
fire  lick  around  the  prize  I  sought.  Dimly  I 
could  see  Pillsover  reeling  back  beaten,  with 
his  face  in  his  hands.  Baffled,  he  and  I 
watched  the  precious  shipment  burst  into 
flames. 

Presently  a  charred  bit  of  paper  fluttered 
past  me.  I  clutched  it,  and  my  fingers  closed 
on  a  bit  of  smoking  parchment.  I  sniffed  it 
eagerly,  and  detected  the  odor  of  burning  hair. 
There  was  no  doubt  that  the  Royal  Whisker 
had  perished  on  this  imposing  pyre. 


136] 


THE    TALE    OF 
THE    SHIPWRECKED    PARENT 


CHAPTER    VI 

THE   TALE    OF   THE   SHIPWRECKED 

PARENT 

I  WAS  enjoying  a  quiet  afternoon  with  my 
notebooks  in  my  London  lodgings.  I  had 
been  in  England  only  three  weeks  and  already 
my  researches  had  been  rewarded  by  the  dis 
covery  of  two  very  uncommon  species  or  pat 
terns  of  the  Human  Whisker.  The  portraits 
of  their  wearers  were  in  process  of  being 
painted  by  competent  artists,  and  I  was  in  the 
midst  of  cataloguing  these  treasures  accord 
ing  to  my  own  system  of  classification  and 
nomenclature  when  a  commotion  in  the  street 
caused  me  to  hasten  to  the  window. 

A  four-wheeler  was  maneuvering  near  the 
curb  in  a  most  surprising  manner.  Now  the 
vehicle  would  sweep  a  circle  and  approach 
the  door,  then  it  would  halt  and  back  a  few 

[139 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


yards,  while  from  within  issued  a  series  of 
shrill  commands  that  fairly  crackled  with  pro 
fanity.  I  was  able  to  hear  the  turbulent  pas 
senger  cry  with  formidable  fury: 

"  Hard  a-starboard,  you  swab  !  Now  easy 
with  your  helium.  Don't  you  know  enough 
to  let  her  come  up  into  the  wind  when  you're 
making  a  landing?" 

The  harassed  cab  made  another  dizzy  cir 
cuit,  and  finally  stopped  at  the  curb.  The 
door  was  flung  open  and  there  emerged  a  huge 
beard  of  Titian  red  followed  by  its  sturdy 
owner,  Hank  Wilkins,  my  faithful  assistant 
and  the  companion  of  many  of  my  wanderings. 
He  beckoned  to  the  driver,  who  handed  him 
down  a  bit  of  plank  and  a  coil  of  rope.  Then 
Mr.  Wilkins  carefully  moored  the  horse,  stern 
and  bow,  to  the  footscraper  on  the  doorstep, 
after  which  he  laid  one  end  of  the  plank  inside 
the  cab  and  the  other  on  the  curb,  thus  making 
a  little  bridge.  Touching  his  hat  with  a  sail 
orly  salute  he  addressed  the  interior  of  the 
cab: 

"  All's  made  fast  shipshape  and  proper, 
140] 


The   Tale  of  the  Shipwrecked  Parent 

father.  Hawser's  ashore  and  gangplank  out. 
Come  on,  if  you  please." 

A  sprightly  old  man  darted  into  view  and 
ran  down  the  gangplank.  He  was  so  gaunt 
that  his  clothes  fairly  flopped  about  his  with 
ered  frame.  His  weather-browned  face 
resembled  a  shriveled  pippin  and  his  hawk 
like  nose  swooped  down  to  meet  his  concave 
chin. 

"  All  taut,  my  boy,"  he  piped  in  a  voice 
like  the  wind  singing  through  a  ship's  rigging. 
"  If  I  hadn't  been  along  that  lubber  on  the 
poop  'ud  have  smashed  us  into  smithereens, 
hey,  boy?  " 

Mr.  Wilkins  grasped  his  fellow- voyager  by 
the  arm  and  led  him  indoors.  I  met  them  in 
the  hall  and  Wilkins  explained  with  some 
embarrassment : 

'  This  is  my  aged  parent,  sir.  I  ran  afoul 
of  him  by  sheer  accident,  and  found  he  was 
even  more  set  in  his  ways  than  when  I  last 
clapped  eyes  on  him.  The  only  way  I  could 
fetch  him  up  from  the  docks  was  to  let  him 
play  he  was  cruisin'  ashore.  I  hadn't  seen  the 

[141 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


old  codger  for  twenty-odd  years,  and  thought 
he  was  lost  in  the  wreck  of  the  Australia  clip 
per  Hyder  Ally.  I  knew  him  the  second  he 
raised  a  yell  in  my  wake  and  came  runnin' 
after  me,  but  I  was  a  bit  puzzled  at  first 
because  he  used  to  wear  a  beard,  and  now  his 
face  is  as  shy  of  hair  as  a  china  nest  egg." 

I  coaxed  the  pair  into  my  sitting  room,  and 
placed  the  briny  and  erratic  parent  behind  a 
scotch-and-soda.  He  dipped  his  beak  in  the 
glass,  threw  back  his  head  and  slid  the  drink 
down  his  wizened  throat  without  blinking. 
His  offspring  commented: 

"  He  steams  by  fits  and  starts,  sir.  His 
safety-valve  is  pretty  near  due  to  blow  off 
again  and  then  you'll  hear  him  waste  language 
at  an  awful  rate.  Where  have  you  been,  dear 
father?  You  haven't  squandered  any  postage 
stamps  on  your  only  child."  The  parent 
slapped  the  table  with  his  skinny  hand, 
smacked  his  lips  and  began  to  drone  as  if  the 
lever  of  a  phonograph  had  been  released: 

"  The  Hyder  Ally  was  foundered  in  the 
Injun  Ocean  and  I  was  the  only  man  of  her 
142] 


-n 
c 


_60 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


crew  that  drifted  ashore.  And  me  and  the  bit 
of  plank  I  was  clinging  to  like  a  barnacle  was 
tossed  on  the  beach  of  an  island  that  wasn't 
down  on  any  charts  at  all.  I  discovered  it, 
and  named  it  Lemuel  Wilkins,  his  island,  by 
gum.  And  there  was  people  on  this  Lemuel 
Wilkins  Island,  big  brown  savages  with  no 
more  manners  or  morals  than  this  big  red- 
whiskered  son  of  mine.  And  the  men  on  that 
island,  they  had  whiskers,  too,  tropical,  luxu 
riant  whiskers  they  was,  oh,  such  wonderful 
growths.  When  they  come  down  to  the  beach 
to  pick  me  up,  they  was  truly  a  rare  and  noble 
sight. 

"  It  was  the  fact  of  my  wearin'  a  fine  up 
standing  beard  that  saved  my  life.  They  gave 
me  a  hut  and  fed  me  up,  and  I  was  treated 
with  respect.  It  wasn't  a  month  before  I  was 
beginnin'  to  talk  their  lingo  and  pick  up  their 
ways.  One  of  the  first  things  I  noticed  that 
was  awful  curious  was  that  every  morning  all 
the  men  sat  in  the  sun  and  dressed  their  whisk 
ers  most  particular  with  combs  made  out  of 
sharks'  teeth.  Then  they  washed  'em  and 


The   Tale  of  the  Shipwrecked  Parent 

holystoned  'em  with  some  kind  of  ointment 
and  little  fiber  brushes  and  spread  them  out 
to  dry. 

"  I  figgered  that  it  was  healthy  for  me  to 
follow  the  majority  as  long  as  I  had  to  sojourn 
on  Lemuel  Wilkins  Island.  While  my  whisk 
ers  wasn't  as  fine  and  silky  and  luxurious  as 
the  savages,  they  was  pretty  fair  for  a  fo'ksle 
growth.  So  I  borrowed  a  comb  and  a  squee 
gee  and  began  to  tend  my  chin-warmers  as 
careful  and  assiduous  as  my  neighbors.  This 
made  a  hit  with  'em  from  the  start,  and  even 
the  king  was  kind  enough  to  pass  me  out  a  few 
encouraging  words. 

"  Bime-by  I  learned  that  among  my  island 
ers  rank  and  office  was  decided  by  reason  of 
the  longest,  bushiest  whiskers.  It  was  like  this, 
do  you  understand:  the  king  held  his  berth 
only  until  some  other  man  of  the  tribe  hap 
pened  along  with  a  finer  set  of  whiskers.  Then 
the  unfortunate  ruler  had  to  climb  off  his  perch 
and  make  way  for  a  new  monarch.  The 
poor  old  discard  let  his  whiskers  get  all  neg 
lected  and  frowsy,  like  the  jig  was  up  and  he'd 

[H5 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


lost  the  number  of  his  mess  for  keeps.  The 
next  highest  chief  or  prime  minister  was  the 
Johnny  with  the  second  finest  whiskers,  and 
so  on  down  the  line  until  you  come  to  the 
Comb  and  Whisker  Bearer  to  His  Royal 
Nibs. 

"  It  might  ha'  been  one  year,  and  it  might 
ha'  been  a  hundred  and  forty-seven  years  for 
all  I  know,  when  I  found  by  measurin'  my 
whiskers  every  morning  that  they  had  reached 
their  limit.  They  had  sprouted  every  last 
blankety  blank  sprout  there  was  in  'em.  Then 
with  fear  and  trembling  I  signified  my  inten 
tion  of  entering  the  next  competition  for  office, 
which  was  held  every  six  months.  It  was 
something  like  Civil  Service  examinations.  I 
played  in  hard  luck  that  trip,  for  this  here 
competition  brought  out  the  finest  collection 
of  prize  whiskers  ever  seen  on  Lemuel  Wil- 
kins  Island.  It  had  been  fine  growin'  weather, 
lots  of  showers  and  sunshine,  and  them  native- 
bred  tropical  varieties  took  to  it  kindlier  than 
my  brand,  which  was  reared  in  the  temperate 
zone. 
146] 


The   Tale  of  the  Shipwrecked  Parent 


"Hallelujah,  I  won  by  an  eighth  of  an  inch." 

''  When  the  Royal  Surveyor  came  along  the 
line  with  the  official  measurin'  rods  I  was  all 
'et  up  with  excitement.  I  didn't  have  no  show 
to  be  a  king,  but  there  was  several  snug  berths 
that  I  had  an  eye  on,  and  it  was  going  to  be  a 
close  finish  between  me  and  the  other  mejium 
growths.  Hallelujah,  I  won  by  an  eighth  of 
an  inch,  and  was  made  Captain  of  the  Royal 
Body  Guard. 

[147 


J.   Archibald  McKackney 

"  There  was  only  one  sorrow  in  my  year 
and  a  half  at  that  job.  An  Italian  barber  was 
washed  ashore  from  a  wrecked  liner,  and 
when  we  found  a  razor  in  his  pocket  I  was 
foolish  enough  to  tell  the  King  what  it  was 
for.  He  ordered  the  poor  castaway  to  be 
stoned  to  death  with  green  cocoanuts,  for  there 
was  no  reasoning  with  His  Bloodthirsty  Ma 
jesty.  The  barber  was  a  heretic,  a  blasphemer, 
a  menace  to  law  and  order,  and  several  other 
things,  and  I  couldn't  save  him  from  his  fate. 
The  royal  notion  was  that  any  man  that  dare 
lay  hand  on  a  whisker  with  felonious  intentions 
was  a  hidjus  monster,  and  had  ought  to  be 
exterminated  quicker  'n  scat. 

"  I  disremember  how  many  years  it  was 
before  there  came  to  pass  what  is  called  in  the 
history  of  Lemuel  Wilkins  Island  '  The  Red 
Whisker  Rebellion.'  There  was  a  tradition 
that  some  day  a  man  with  a  red  beard  would 
come  from  Heaven  or  appear  in  some  kind  of 
astonishin'  manner,  and  he  would  be  the  great 
and  exalted  King  and  reign  forever  and  ever, 
amen.  I  used  to  sit  under  a  cocoanut  tree  and 
148] 


The    Tale  of  the  Shipwrecked  Parent 

mourn  that  all  the  brains  of  the  family  went 
to  the  inside  of  my  head  and  all  the  red  hair 
to  the  outside  of  my  boy  Hank's.  That  didn't 
help  none,  me  being  a  bloomin'  brunette  by 
profession,  and  I  logged  it  along  on  my  hum 
ble  but  happy  course  until  the  man  from  Maa- 
loo  Island  come  sneakin'  ashore  with  his  damn 
conspiracy.  It  was  kept  under  cover  awful 
close  for  six  months  or  so.  And  it  was  a  sad 
day  for  me  when  I  fell  an  easy  prey  to  his 
horrid  temptations.  It  wasn't  natural  for  a 
white  man  to  stay  satisfied  with  such  tupenny 
jobs  as  Captain  of  Police  and  Maker  of 
Whisker  Combs  for  the  Palace  by  Royal  War 
rant.  I  was  itching  for  authority  in  high 
places,  but  my  whiskers  couldn't  match  my 
ambitions. 

"  The  man  from  Maaloo  Island  had  me 
sized  up  as  the  abiding  place  of  the  cankerin' 
worm  of  ambition  with  a  big  A.  And  when 
me  and  my  crew  that  was  divin'  after  pearls 
was  blown  into  Maaloo  Island  harbor  by  a 
gale  of  wind,  he  renewed  his  hellish  overtures 
and  unfolded  his  plot.  Him  and  a  pal  of  his 

[149 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


had  discovered  an  herb  which  would  make  a 
dyestuff  that  was  warranted  not  to  fade,  crock 
or  get  rusty  in  three  lifetimes.  It  was  their 
copper-fastened  secret,  and  they  had  tried  it  on 
several  sets  of  false  whiskers.  These  append 
ages  they  had  hung  in  the  scorchin'  sun  and 
left  out  in  the  rain  and  towed  behind  'em  at 
sea  for  four  years.  And  the  crimson  tint  of 
them  whiskers  hadn't  altered  enough  to  be 
visible  to  the  naked  eye. 

"  The  man  from  Maaloo  Island  had  a 
brother  that  hadn't  been  home  since  he  was  a 
boy.  Being  a  perfect  stranger  to  all  hands  in 
them  waters,  the  plot  was  to  dye  the  brother's 
whiskers  red,  he  having  the  most  wonderful 
natural  bunch  in  all  the  Injun  Ocean.  Then 
they  was  to  land  him  on  Lemuel  Wilkins 
Island  with  some  kind  of  flim-flam  and  de- 
ludin'  ceremonies,  like  he  had  hopped  off  a 
passin'  cloud. 

"  It  looked  all  right.  My  poor  islanders 
had  never  seen  no  dyestuff  of  any  kind,  and 
they  didn't  know  that  red  whiskers  growed 
anywhere  except  where  their  gods  come  from. 
150] 


The   Tale  of  the  Shipwrecked  Parent 

It  was  as  easy  as  stealing  the  handles  from 
your  grandmother's  coffin. 

"  I  was  to  help  the  game  along  all  I  could, 
usin'  my  pull  with  the  police  in  case  of  trouble, 
and  this  dyed-in-the  wool  King  swore  he'd 
make  me  his  right  hand  man  and  executive 
officer.  But  I  didn't  have  to  lift  a  finger  when 
his  Sacred  Red  Whiskers  landed.  He  was  dis 
covered  at  sun-up  chumming  with  the  wooden 
gods  of  the  tribe  as  if  he  had  fell  among  a 
bunch  of  long-lost  brothers.  The  Lemuel 
Wilkins  Islanders  flopped  on  their  knees  and 
surrendered,  hook,  line  and  sinker,  body,  soul 
and  breeches  which  they  didn't  have  none. 
The  cheap  human  being  of  a  King  that  was  in 
power  was  tipped  on  his  royal  head  and  the 
Red  Whiskers  God  took  the  throne  without  a 
murmur.  Then  he  picked  me  as  the  spoiled 
darling  of  his  muster  roll,  and  nobody  dared 
whimper.  Oh,  but  them  were  brief  but  beau 
teous  years! 

"  It  was  a  fifty-pound  case  of  plug  tobacco 
that  ruined  Lemuel  Wilkins.  It  was  cast 
ashore  from  some  wreck  or  other,  and  I  wel- 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


corned  it  with  songs  of  rejoicing.  And  being 
grateful  to  the  Red  Whiskered  King,  I  taught 
him  how  to  chew.  He  took  to  it  like  a  seaman 
to  rum.  And  we'd  pass  the  warm,  starlit 
evenings  clampin'  our  jaws  on  chunks  of  good 
old  '  Bristol  Navy  '  and  feel  our  hearts  expand 
with  love  for  our  fellow  men.  He  wasn't  a 
neat  chewer,  being  strange  and  uneducated, 
and  he  used  to  trickle  some  when  he  spit.  He 
had  hopes  of  bein'  able  to  hit  a  knothole  at 
ten  feet,  like  me,  but  he  was  a  mere  appren 
tice,  so  to  speak. 

"  We  went  to  bed  in  the  dark  on  that  fatal 
night  after  an  exciting  round  of  target  prac 
tice  at  the  knothole,  and  I  had  no  chance  to 
warn  him.  At  daylight  he  strode  forth  to 
meet  the  head  men  and  petty  officials  of  the 
tribe  for  a  sacred  pow-wow.  The  rays  of  the 
rising  sun  lit  up  his  Heaven-descended  whisk 
ers  like  a  bonfire  of  tar  barrels. 

"  There  was  a  wild  roar  from  his  followers. 
I  heard  the  hell-raisin'  racket  and  rushed  to 
the  scene.  There  -was  a  streak  of  brown  and 
another  of  gray  runnin'  halfway  down  his 
152] 


The   Tale  of  the  Shipwrecked  Parent 

beard.  I  dassent  believe  my  eyes.  The  petty 
chiefs  was  crowding  in  around  him,  utterin' 
shrill  cries.  Alas,  it  was  too  true.  The  dye- 
stuff  from  Maaloo  Island  hadn't  been  made 
proof  against  the  continued  and  corrodin' 
effects  of  tobacco  juice.  It  had  done  its  deadly 
devastation  over  night.  The  Sacred  Whisk 
ers  had  begun  to  crock  and  run. 

"  The  Head  Groom  of  the  Bed  Chamber 
was  summoned  on  the  jump.  His  acute  and 
expert  vision  could  not  be  fooled.  He  pro 
nounced  the  whiskers  a  harrowing  imitation 
that  might  have  been  made  in  Germany. 
Then  the  chiefs  held  a  formal  trial.  I  wasn't 
there.  I  was  wildly  searchin'  for  a  seagoing 
canoe  when  they  dragged  me  back  from  the 
beach.  Five  hours  later  the  bogus  god  had 
been  beaten  to  death  with  war  clubs,  and  a 
bona  fide  human  or  home-grown  set  of  whisk 
ers  was  reigning  in  his  stead.  He  had  con 
fessed  all,  miserable  wretch  that  he  was,  and 
I  was  accused  and  tried  for  conspiracy. 

"  No,  they  didn't  kill  me,  but  they  done  me 
much  worse.  I  was  condemned  to  have  my 

[153 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


whiskers  pulled  out  with  pincers,  every  last 
hair  of  'em.  Do  you  fathom  what  that  meant? 
With  a  face  as  clean  as  a  billiard  ball  I  was  no 
longer  fit  to  be  with  men.  I  was  disrated,  cast 
out,  dishonored,  fit  only  to  do  wimmin's  work. 
And  they  made  me  do  it.  It  was  that  or 
starve.  They  put  me  to  work  in  the  laundry, 
doing  up  the  royal  whisker  covers  what  was 
put  on  by  the  King  and  his  Cabinet  at  night, 
same  as  we  use  nightcaps.  There  is  things 
worse  than  death,  just  as  the  Good  Book  says 
that  the  bite  of  an  ungrateful  son  is  more 
grievous  than  the  sting  of  a  serpent." 

The  unfortunate  parent  let  his  head  sink 
between  his  shoulders  like  a  mournful  old  bird 
on  its  roost,  and  wiped  one  beady  eye  with  the 
cuff  of  his  sleeve.  It  seemed  indelicate  to  press 
him  with  questions,  and  Hank  Wilkins  and  I 
waited  in  attitudes  of  respectful  attention.  At 
length  the  parent  rubbed  his  smooth  and  shin 
ing  chin  with  the  back  of  his  hand,  and  the 
touch  of  it  awoke  his  wrath  to  seek  vent  in 
speech. 

"  Doomed  to  wander  whiskerless  over  the 
154] 


The   Tale  of  the  Shipwrecked  Parent 


"And  laugh  in  his  bushy  beard  till  the  tears  ran  down 
into  it." 

face  of  the  earth  was  I,"  he  went  on,  "  though 
I  wasn't  allowed  to  wander  to  any  extent. 
Humiliations  were  heaped  upon  me,  full  and 
overflowing.  The  King  used  to  saunter  down 
to  the  laundry  and  sit  on  a  tub  carved  from  a 

[155 


.   Archibald  McKackney 


solid  log  and  laugh  in  his  bushy  beard  till  the 
tears  ran  down  into  it  and  hung  there  like 
diamonds.  Years  and  years  and  ages  and 
ages  I  toiled  in  this  disgustin'  manner,  and 
there  was  no  balm  or  whisker  restorer  in 
Gilead  for  the  wreck  of  what  had  once  been 
the  high-steppin'  and  proud-spirited  Lemuel 
Wilkins. 

"  At  last  I  escaped  from  them  torments.  It 
was  in  a  Dutch  gunboat  that  discovered  the 
island  and  sent  a  boat  in  shore  to  chart  the 
reefs.  Disguised  as  a  tubful  of  washing,  I 
made  my  way  to  the  beach  by  night  and  swum 
off  to  the  Dutchmen.  If  there  had  been  one 
red-whiskered  man  aboard  the  vessel  I'd  ha' 
made  a  desperate  attempt  to  lead  a  rebellion 
with  him  and  upset  the  ruling  dynasty.  But 
there  was  no  such  luck,  and  they  landed  me  in 
Batavia  without  a  penny,  yes,  even  poorer  by 
the  length  of  my  whiskers  than  when  I 
had  been  washed  ashore  on  Lemuel  Wilkins 
Island.  On  my  way  home  I  picked  up  a 
monkey  that  had  been  owned  by  a  deef  and 
dumb  man  in  Borneo.  He  had  taught  the 
156] 


The   Tale  of  the  Shipwrecked  Parent 

intelligent  animal  to  talk  the  sign  language  to 
him,  usin'  its  hands  and  feet  with  surprisin' 
fluency.  That  there  double-ended  monkey, 
Four-handed  Jacob,  is  the  only  friend  I've  got 
in  the  world.  I'm  teachin'  him  to  conduct 

dialogues  with  himself  and " 

I  was  impolite  enough  to  break  into  the 
rambling  monotone  of  the  shipwrecked  par 
ent.  I  told  him  that  it  had  occurred  to  me 
that  Lemuel  Wilkins  Island  was  waiting  for 
his  son  Hank  as  its  lawful  and  predestinated 
sovereign.  Nor  did  I  feel  that  I  ought  to 
stand  in  the  way  of  such  glittering  advance 
ment.  Here  was  this  fine  fellow,  Hank  Wil 
kins,  owner  of  the  most  superb  Titian  beard 
in  the  world,  if  I  knew  anything  about  whisker 
values.  And  in  the  Indian  Ocean  was  a  throne 
that  belonged  to  him.  And  more  than  that, 
I  hoped  to  be  able  to  accompany  him  to  Lem 
uel  Wilkins  Island.  If  Hank  Wilkins  had 
been  shown  the  way  to  a  throne  by  the  revela 
tion  of  his  shipwrecked  parent,  then  I  had  been 
privileged  to  discern  a  new  and  wonder 
ful  opportunity  for  extending  my  researches 

[157 


.   Archibald  McKackney 


among  the  rare  species  of  the  Human 
Whisker.  To  think  of  visiting  this  island, 
where  whiskers  were  encouraged  and  cherished 
by  custom,  tradition  and  the  stimulus  of  ambi 
tion,  fired  my  soul  with  unbounded  ardor. 
And  with  Hank  Wilkins  as  ruler,  by  grace  of 
his  peerless  Titian  beard,  there  would  be  no 
limit  to  my  novel  investigations.  I  hastened 
to  console  the  shipwrecked  parent  and  my 
voice  rang  with  enthusiasm  : 

"  Never  fear,  Lemuel  Wilkins.  You  are 
the  sire  of  the  genuine  Hair  Apparent.  We 
shall  sail  for  the  Indian  Ocean  on  the  first 
steamer  out  of  England.  And  when  Hank 
Wilkins  has  come  into  his  kingdom,  you  shall 
be  summoned  as  Prime  Minister,  and  you 
shall  be  allowed  to  boil  the  deposed  monarch 
to  death  in  a  laundry  tub.  And  meantime  you 
and  Four-handed  Jacob  shall  be  liberally  pen 
sioned." 


158] 


THE    ABDICATION    OF    KING 
WILKINS  I 


CHAPTER   VII 

THE   ABDICATION  OF   KING   WILKINS   I 

(As  quoted  from  the  author's  diary  for  the 
year  1904.) 

Ar'RIL  5th. — After  interminable  weeks  at 
sea,  weeks  beset  with  doubts  and  fears 
and  hopes,  our  fondest  dreams  have  come 
true.  The  night  has  fallen  on  our  first  day 
in  Lemuel  Wilkins  Island.  As  I  write,  the 
firelight  flickers  upon  the  bronzed  forms  of 
our  stalwart  native  bodyguard,  and  throws 
into  bold  silhouette  their  incomparable  sets  of 
tropical  whiskers.  These  treasures  are  all  that 
the  Shipwrecked  Parent  led  me  to  hope  for, 
and  I  picture  to  myself  happy  months  to  come, 
with  camera,  sketching  tablets  and  note  books. 
Perhaps  I  shall  be  able  once  more  to  organize 
an  Hirsute  Orchestra,  here  where  the  rarest  of 
tonal  qualities  are  waiting  to  be  grouped  and 
tuned,  here  where  the  steady  sweep  of  the 

[161 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


trade  winds  will  evoke  vibratory  harmonies  by 
night  and  day. 

I  am  not  a  coward,  and  my  adventures  in 
pursuit  of  rare  whiskers  have  led  me  into  some 
tight  corners  among  various  kinds  of  uncivi 
lized  folk.  But  I  am  ready  to  confess  that  I 
was  in  an  agitated  state  of  mind  and  that  my 
knees  wobbled  when  the  surf  boat  from  my 
chartered  schooner  grounded  on  this  remote 
beach  in  the  gray  dawn,  and  Hank  Wilkins 
and  I  were  left  alone  to  face  these  mysterious 
islanders.  I  could  not  help  recalling  the  fate 
of  the  red-bearded  impostor  from  Maaloo 
Island.  And  what  disturbed  me  even  more 
was  the  fact  that  I  was  clean  shaven,  and 
might  be  thrust  against  my  will  into  some  such 
degrading  kind  of  labor  and  humiliating  social 
status  as  had  crushed  the  unfortunate  Ship 
wrecked  Parent.  If  Wilkins  failed  to  win  by 
virtue  of  his  Titian  beard  —  well,  our  lives  and 
fortunes  hung  by  a  hair,  or,  to  be  more  accu 
rate,  by  a  rarely  splendid  bunch  of  them. 

Leaving  me  alone  on  the  beach,  Hank  Wil 
kins  advanced  toward  a  stately  grove  of  palms, 
162] 


The  Abdication  of  King   Wilkins  I 

combing  his  whiskers  as  he  moved  with  kingly 
stride.  I  slumped  down  on  a  bit  of  driftwood, 
my  head  in  my  hands,  and  waited  for  Heaven 
alone  knew  what.  The  moments  dragged 
horribly,  but  it  could  not  have  been  more  than 
an  hour  before  I  heard  shouts  re-echoing  from 
the  grove,  shouts  of  joy  which  merged  into 
some  kind  of  a  slow,  chanting  music.  Pres 
ently  Hank  Wilkins  came  from  among  the 
trees.  His  head  was  bound  with  a  fillet  of 
leaves,  a  fiber  cloak  was  draped  from  his  mas 
sive  shoulders;  and  behind  him  streamed 
scores  of  villagers,  dancing,  singing,  waving 
palm  branches.  Now  and  then  a  group  of 
them  would  hurry  on  ahead  to  look  at  the 
oriflamme  of  a  beard  that  lured  them  on,  and 
to  bow  and  posture  before  it  in  the  most  com 
plete  adoration. 

I  was  panic-smitten,  however,  when  a  num 
ber  of  men  rushed  straight  at  me,  and  bran 
dished  clubs  as  if  about  to  dash  out  my  inno 
cent  brains.  With  savage  shouts  and  fierce 
gestures,  Hank  Wilkins  restrained  his  ardent 
followers,  and  hastened  to  embrace  me  and 

[163 


.   Archibald  McKackney 


throw  his  cloak  across  my  shoulders.  While 
he  was  convincing  the  islanders  by  means  of 
this  pantomime  that  I  was  his  friend  he  man 
aged  to  tell  me  : 

"  My  whiskers  won  in  a  walk,  but  it  was 
uncomfortable  for  a  while.  '  Once  bit,  twice 
shy,'  and  they  made  me  soak  my  beard  in  a 
tubful  of  powdered  plug  tobacco  and  water 
before  they  were  sure  I  was  the  real  thing. 
Follow  me  to  the  palace,  and  cast  your  eyes  on 
the  lovely  specimens  in  my  wake." 

Upon  my  soul,  the  prodigious  beards  of  our 
escort  formed  a  sort  of  human  jungle.  They 
were  trimmed  and  trained  in  such  wholly 
original  patterns  as  to  convince  me  that  the  art 
of  wearing  whiskers  has  fatally  degenerated 
among  civilized  races.  I  shook  the  hand  of 
His  Majesty  King  Wilkins  I.  in  silent  ecstacy. 
We  did  not  catch  even  a  glimpse  of  the  luck 
less  ruler  so  suddenly  deposed  by  reason  of  our 
advent.  He  had  climbed  the  back  fence  of 
the  palace  yard,  his  inadequate  and  superseded 
whiskers  his  only  luggage,  and  fled  by  sea  well 
ahead  of  the  mob. 
164] 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


We  entered  the  royal  apartments  to  the 
sound  of  drums  and  horns,  and  made  ourselves 
at  home.  The  Groom  of  the  Royal  Bed 
Chamber  at  once  set  to  work  anointing  and 
combing  the  royal  and  supernal  beard  of  King 
Wilkins  I  in  token  of  the  official  installation. 
I  was  left  free  to  begin  my  researches,  and  by 
nightfall  I  had  photographed  and  catalogued 
two  absolutely  unique  growths,  and  was  as 
happy  as  a  truant  school  boy. 

May  3.  —  Our  island  has  been  invaded  by  a 
young  woman  of  our  own  race,  a  most  aston 
ishing  and  incredible  event.  I  was  drawn  to 
the  beach  this  forenoon  by  a  great  outcry  and 
stampede  from  my  village,  and  hurried  after, 
to  find  a  small  schooner  driving  ashore,  dis 
masted  and  helpless.  Her  native  crew  was 
trying  to  launch  a  boat  as  the  doomed  vessel 
drifted  toward  the  roaring  surf  that  pounded 
over  the  inside  reef.  The  boat  was  swamped 
even  before  it  could  be  manned,  and  our  brave 
villagers  rushed  to  their  fishing  canoes  which 
had  been  pulled  above  high  water. 

But  before  they  could  attempt  a  rescue, 
166] 


The  Abdication  of  King  Wilkins  I 

King  Wilkins  I  came  tearing  through  the 
crowd,  roaring  commands,  and  in  a  twinkling 
he  had  picked  a  crew  and  was  urging  them 
into  the  breakers.  The  brave  fellows  toiled 
like  madmen.  Thrice  the  giant  seas  beat  them 
back  and  whirled  their  canoe  end  over  end. 
But  they  followed  the  flaming  beard  of  their 
leader  as  if  it  were  a  banner  of  war,  and  at 
length  the  canoe  crossed  the  reef  in  clouds  of 
spray. 

Soon  a  driving  rain  veiled  the  schooner 
from  our  sight,  and  an  hour  passed  before  the 
canoe  reappeared.  Then,  amid  a  storm  of 
cheers  from  shore,  it  was  flung  far  upon  the 
sand.  I  rushed  to  pick  up  the  inanimate  form 
of  a  young  white  female,  but  the  dripping 
Wilkins  shoved  me  aside,  and  swinging  her 
against  his  shoulder  he  ran  toward  the  palace. 
He  gasped  as  I  trotted  at  his  side : 

"  Miss  Hulda  Barnstable  of  Walpole, 
Mass. — missionary  bound  to  the  Peace  Island 
group.  Old  gent  that  convoyed  her  was 
washed  overboard  yesterday  and  lost." 

May  10. — I  am  not  ungallant  by  nature, 

[167 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


but  I  have  begun  to  wish  to  Heaven  that  the 
young  missionary  female  had  chosen  some 
other  island  for  the  scene  of  her  shipwreck. 
She  has  an  attractive  personality  in  her  de 
mure,  prim  way,  and  her  eyes  are  uncommonly 
fetching.  But  in  one  short  week  she  has  man 
aged  to  demoralize  the  government  of  Lemuel 
Wilkins  Island,  and  to  play  the  very  devil  with 
my  well-ordered  round  of  scientific  investiga 
tion.  King  Wilkins  I  promised  to  send  her 
on  her  way  in  the  first  vessel  he  could  lay  his 
hands  on,  but  for  the  last  day  or  so  he  has 
appeared  to  care  precious  little  about  sighting 
a  sail. 

Miss  Hulda  Barnstable  is  of  that  an 
noying  New  England  type  that  can  hear  a 
call  of  duty  from  the  Antipodes  and  is  always 
cocked  and  primed  to  regenerate  any  com 
munity  except  its  own.  She  was  not  asked  to 
right  any  wrongs  or  save  any  souls  on  Lemuel 
Wilkins  Island,  but  already  she  has  expressed 
in  the  strongest  language  her  contempt  for  an 
elderly  gentleman  who  will  waste  his  golden 
years  in  studying  and  collecting  the  Human 
168] 


The  Abdication  of  King  Wilkins  I 

Whisker.  She  has  even  begun  to  set  the  na 
tives  against  me,  and  is  actually  preaching  the 
damnable  doctrine  that  their  pride  in  their 
whiskers  is  sinful  and  disgusting.  As  for  the 
King,  he  is  not  like  himself.  I  have  the  gravest 
doubts  of  his  being  able  to  make  a  firm  stand 
against  the.  New  England  conscience  when 
reinforced  by  a  pair  of  fine  gray  eyes. 

May  15.  —  Early  this  evening  Wilkins 
launched  into  a  story  of  his  troubles.  His 
impassioned  monologue  lasted  an  hour,  and 
the  gist  of  it  was  as  follows : 

"  Mr.  McKackney,  I  have  never  failed  you 
yet,  nor  sidestepped  any  proposition  that  I 
once  laid  my  hand  to.  You  will  recall  that  I 
took  my  life  in  one  hand  and  my  camera  in 
the  other  when  I  got  you  the  picture  of  the 
Insane  Cossack  with  the  Pink  Whiskers  that 
is  the  gem  of  your  collection  to  this  day.  But 
I  never  lost  my  sleep  o'  nights  before,  nor 
watched  my  appetite  slide  out  from  under  me 
till  it  would  disgrace  a  hard-working  humming 
bird.  And  what  is  it  all  about?  Why,  the 
very  thing  that  you  and  me  have  made  the 

[169 


J.  Archibald  McKackney 

business  of  our  lives  and  been  d — n  proud  of ; 
the  very  thing  that  fetched  us  to  this  island, 
where  we  were  so  happy  until " 

Wilkins  pulled  at  his  beard  and  stared  down 
at  this  mainspring  of  his  sovereignty  with  a 
significant  frown.  Then  he  resumed: 

"  What  is  it?  It  is  Whiskers.  She  abom 
inates  'em.  No,  don't  interrupt  me.  I  don't 
want  to  have  to  be  disrespectful,  even  though 
I  am  a  king  and  you  are  my  naturalized  sub 
ject  with  the  rank  of  Royal  Whisker  Inspector 
by  brevet.  But  I  can't  allow  you  to  criticize 
the  doings  or  the  motives  of  Miss  Hulda 
Barnstable  of  Walpole,  Mass.  I  repeat,  she 
abominates  'em,  hook,  line  and  sinker.  Whisk 
ers  to  her  sensitive  soul  are  hateful,  disturbin', 
odjus,  like  rattlesnakes.  And  I  can't  blame 
her,  of  course.  Only  I  wish — I  wish  the 
foundations  of  my  throne  wasn't  built  on  my 
Titian  beard. 

"  I  might  as  well  tell  you,  sir,  why  she  pos 
sesses  this  amazin'  distaste  for  that  noblest 
work  of  God,  to  wit,  the  Human  Whisker." 
Wilkins  continued  after  a  lugubrious  silence. 
170] 


T/ie  Abdication  of  King  Wilkins  I 

"  And  you  won't  blame  her  a  bit.  It  seems 
that  when  she  was  a  slip  of  a  girl,  in  her  early 
teens,  her  maternal  uncle,  Jedediah  Stokes  by 
name,  wore  a  set  of  whiskers  of  which  he  was 
tremendously  fond.  As  well  as  I  can  gather 
from  her  rough  description,  they  were  of  the 
1  Chin-warmer  Vulgaris  '  pattern — a  very  com 
mon  growth,  as  you  know,  sir,  with  no  artistic 
merit  whatever.  You  have  a  plate  and  descrip 
tion  of  the  variety  in  the  Illustrated  Catalogue. 
This  Jedediah  Stokes  was  a  retired  sea  cap 
tain,  who  had  piled  up  in  the  East  India  trade 
what  amounted  to  a  large  fortune  for  a  small 
New  England  town.  This  fortune  he  had 
willed  to  his  widowed  sister  (who  was  the 
mother  of  the  young  missionary  person)  and 
to  her  children. 

"  The  old  barnacle  lived  with  the  Barn- 
stable  family,  and  being  somewhat  infirm  by 
reason  of  his  hardships  endured  at  sea,  he 
often  fell  asleep  while  reading  beside  the  par 
lor  table  over  which  he  used  to  flop  with  his 
head  in  his  hands.  His  youngest  nephew,  a 
high-spirited  boy  of  twelve,  used  to  watch  this 

[171 


J.  Archibald  McKackney 

lullaby  performance  with  a  good  deal  of  inter 
est.  At  last  he  hit  upon  the  most  unfortunate 
idea  of  applying  a  fresh  coat  of  glue  to  the 
top  of  the  table  just  before  Uncle  Jedediah 
fixed  himself  for  one  of  these  silly  naps.  The 
old  man  was  already  blinkin'  and  noddin' 
when  the  lad  spilled  the  glue  under  pretense  of 
looking  for  a  book.  Then  from  the  doorway 
the  young  limb  o'  Satan  watched  the  poor  old 
mariner's  head  bob  lower  and  lower  until  his 
prodigal  whiskers  was  streaming  full  and  free 
across  the  table.  Then  the  nephew  hastily 
ducked  and  took  a  station  by  a  window  out 
side,  where  his  line  of  retreat  was  open. 

"  It  seems  that  Uncle  Jedediah  woke  up 
with  a  snort  and  threw  his  head  back  hard 
and  sudden.  To  his  immense  rage  and  sur 
prise  he  fetched  the  table  along  with  him,  and 
so  securely  was  he  moored  that  after  one  or 
two  frantic  plunges,  which  upset  the  lamp  and 
other  bric-a-brac,  he  was  forced  to  kneel  beside 
the  table,  bellowing  with  pain,  while  the  fam 
ily  rushed  for  scissors  and  axes  to  cut  him 
clear.  Meantime  the  house  caught  fire  from 
172] 


The  Abdication  of  King  Wilkins  I 


"  Uncle  Jedediah  woke  up  with  a  snort." 

the  upset  lamp,  Uncle  Jedediah  was  forsaken 
and  forgotten,  and  he  escaped  to  the  street, 
draggin'  the  table  with  him  and  shrieking  at 
every  jump.  He  had  to  have  his  whiskers 
hacked  off  at  the  roots,  and  the  result  was  that 
he  disowned,  repudiated,  cussed  out  and  dis 
inherited  the  whole  Barnstable  family.  From 
that  day  Miss  Hulda  Barnstable,  whose  nerv 
ous  system  had  been  severely  jolted  by  this 


.   Archibald  McKackney 


double  tragedy,  could  not  abide  the  sight  of 
whiskers. 

"  It's  a  long  walk  from  Walpole,  Mass.,  to 
Lemuel  Wilkins  Island  in  the  Indian  Ocean," 
solemnly  concluded  the  monarch,  "  but  those 
fatal  whiskers  of  Captain  Jedediah  Stokes, 
bein'  dead  yet  speaketh.  And  they  are  strong 
enough  to  shake  the  throne  of  King  Wilkins  I, 
and  I'm  not  ashamed  to  confess  it,  sir." 

May  25.  —  To-day  I  interviewed  Miss 
Hulda  Barnstable,  and  had  my  worst  fore 
bodings  and  surmises  confirmed.  I  found  her 
in  the  palm-thatched  pavilion,  in  front  of 
which  she  has  placed  a  sign  : 

"  DISTRICT  SCHOOL  No.  I. 
Cocoanut  Township." 

A  class  of  brown  cherubs  was  trying  to  sing 
"  From  Greenland's  Icy  Mountains  "  as  I 
entered  with  a  good  deal  of  timidity.  Their 
teacher,  who  was  becomingly  attired  in  a 
freshly  laundered  duck  skirt  and  white  shirt 
waist,  requested  me  to  wait  in  silence  until  the 
"  first  recess."  Meekly  obedient,  I  stole  out- 
174] 


The  Abdication  of  King   Wilkins  I 

side  and  noted  that  the  tribesmen  were  giving 
the  school  house  a  wide  berth,  or,  if  their  busi 
ness  took  them  past  it,  they  went  to  a  good 
deal  of  trouble  to  hide  their  whiskers.  I  re 
flected  with  bitterness  that  at  this  rate  they 
would  begin  cutting  their  whiskers  off  before 
many  moons.  At  length  Miss  Barnstable 
beckoned  me  to  a  bench  under  a  nearby  tree 
and  said  very  firmly: 

"  Mr.  J.  Archibald  McKackney,  I  cannot 
leave  this  island  by  swimming,  and  as  long  as 
I  am  compelled  to  remain  here  I  propose  to 
follow  the  path  of  Duty  that  lies  plain  before 
me.  And  I  shall  do  everything  in  my  power 
to  persuade  Mr. — er — King  Wilkins  I  to 
abandon  his  hideous  whiskers,  and  to  abolish 
them  root  and  branch  among  his  misguided 
subjects.  And  you  are  helping  this  idolatrous 
Whisker  Cult  as  its  High  Priest.  I  have 
made  a  beginning  with  my  school  children, 
who  repeat  in  chorus  each  day: 

"  We'll  never,  never  use  the  weed 
That  bad  men  smoke  and  chew: 

[175 


Archibald  McKackney 


The  wine  cup  shall  not  pass  our  lips; 

Down  with  the  horrid  brew. 
We  promise  too,  dear  teacher,  that 

All  whiskers  are  taboo." 

I  assured  Miss  Hulda  Barnstable  that  I  had 
no  designs  on  the  morals  of  the  youth  of  Lem 
uel  Wilkins  Island.  Then,  as  diplomatically 
as  possible,  I  tried  to  show  her  that  she  was 
playing  the  very  deuce  with  the  throne  itself, 
that  Wilkins  without  his  whiskers  could  not 
last  two  minutes,  and  that  the  traditions  of 
ages  had  established  the  system  of  choosing 
monarchs  by  this  hirsute  qualification,  and 
that  by  virtue  of  his  unique  red  whiskers  he 
was  a  good  deal  more  than  a  common  or  gar 
den  potentate  of  mortal  origin.  "  My  dear 
young  woman,"  I  told  her  with  a  good  deal 
of  feeling,  "  let  him  alone.  He  is  a  first-rate 
king,  and  he  enjoys  it,  or  did  until  you  began 
to  mix  yourself  into  affairs  of  state." 

Miss  Hulda  Barnstable  bit  her  lip  and 
looked  me  very  straight  between  the  eyes  as 
she  retorted: 

"  Mr.  Hank  Wilkins  will  not  cut  off  his 
176] 


The  Abdication  of  King   Wilkins  I 


"Perhaps  he  would  prefer  to  work  out  this  problem  for 
himself,  Mr.  J.  Archibald  McKackney." 

whiskers  unless  he  thinks  the  sacrifice  worth 
while.  Did  you  ever  happen  to  think  of  it 
from  that  viewpoint  ?  Perhaps  he  would  pre- 

[177 


.  Archibald  McKacknty 


fer  to  work  out  this  problem  for  himself,  Mr. 
J.  Archibald  McKackney." 

June  8.  —  The  blow  has  fallen.  For  the 
last  fortnight  I  have  seen  the  inevitable  climax 
drawing  nearer  and  nearer.  It  was  a  splen 
didly  dramatic  situation.  I  will  grant  you 
that.  There  was  no  need  of  more  confession 
from  Wilkins.  It  was  obvious  that  he  was 
becoming  more  hopelessly  enslaved  by  the 
young  missionary  person  every  day.  I  have 
long  ago  outlived  the  years  of  romance,  but 
I  will  acknowledge  that  the  plight  of  Wilkins 
awoke  an  interested  flutter  in  the  region  of  my 
heart.  I  wanted  him  to  find  happiness  :  but  at 
the  price  of  a  throne?  Ah,  there  was  no  get 
ting  away  from  the  horns  of  that  dilemma.  It 
was  as  self-evident  as  a  syllogism  in  a  text  book 
of  logic  and  could  be  summed  up  in  tabloid 
form: 

Hank  Wilkins  reigns  because  of  his  whiskers. 
Miss  Hulda  Barnstable  will  not  marry  him  with 

whiskers. 

Ergo  —  he  gives  up  the  throne 
Or  he  gives  up  the  girl. 
I78] 


The  Abdication  of  King  Wilkins  I 

With  matters  in  this  desperately  hopeless 
condition,  I  stood  aloof  as  an  interested  on 
looker.  My  sympathies  were  with  the  Titian 
beard,  over  which  fell  destruction  hovered. 
Then,  too,  I  dreaded  losing  Wilkins  as  a 
comrade.  I  knew  full  well  that  this  insanely 
prejudiced  young  woman  would  never  consent 
to  her  husband's  remaining  in  my  employ  as 
an  assistant  in  harvesting  the  Human  Whisker 
or  as  the  curator  of  my  collections.  I  was 
also  haunted  by  the  disappointment  that  would 
befall  old  Lemuel  Wilkins,  the  shipwrecked 
parent.  We  had  left  him  in  England,  waiting 
with  his  monkey,  Four-handed  Jacob,  the 
simian  semaphore,  for  the  summons  to  join 
us  as  Prime  Minister  of  the  island. 

It  was  an  immense  relief,  therefore,  to  have 
an  end  made  of  this  harrowing  suspense. 
When  Wilkins  summoned  me  to  the  royal  bed 
chamber  I  was  prepared  for  the  worst.  His 
demeanor  was  grave,  but  there  was  a  twink 
ling  light  in  his  eye  as  he  announced: 

"  I  received  word  to-day  that  a  schooner 
from  Peace  Island  will  touch  here  by  to-mor- 


.  Archibald  McKackney 


row  night.  I'm  going  in  her.  I  hereby  abdi 
cate,  jump  the  job,  quit  without  notice.  Miss 
Hulda  Barnstable  goes  too.  Will  you  join 
us?" 

I  shook  his  hand  and  congratulated  him  as 
heartily  as  I  could  under  the  circumstances. 
Alas,  for  my  dreams  of  completing  my  unique 
researches  on  Lemuel  Wilkins  Island.  I  must 
join  the  retreat.  I  asked  Wilkins  if  he  in 
tended  leaving  my  employ.  He  shook  his 
head  with  an  air  of  sincere  regret. 

"  She  simply  abominates  'em,"  he  said  re 
luctantly.  "  I'm  afraid  you  and  I  have  chased 
the  last  whisker  to  its  lair  together.  I've  made 
my  choice,  sir.  There's  a  brace  of  missionary 
sky-pilots  on  Peace  Island.  We  will  be  mar 
ried  there,  and  she  has  agreed  to  give  up  her 
missionary  projects  in  return  for  my  surren- 
derin'  a  throne.  Maybe  I'll  buy  a  farm  some 
where  near  your  place.  Will  you  lend  me 
your  razor  first  thing  in  the  morning,  sir?  " 

THE    END 
I  80] 


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LOS ANGELES 


J.Archibald  I,  c- 
Kackney  _ 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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